


carry your torches

by chase_the_wind



Series: Jaime Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Female Harry Potter, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Marcel is a Mikaelson, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-War, Realistic Emotional Recovery, fight me, mikaelson family feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-11-12
Packaged: 2019-03-31 11:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 64,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13974345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chase_the_wind/pseuds/chase_the_wind
Summary: "We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered." - Tom StoppardAfter the war, Jaime feels suffocated by Magical Britain.  Haunted by the choices she has had to make, the people they have lost, and the horrors they faced during the war, she and Luna cannot stand to be there in the rebuilding.  Led to Mystic Falls by an act of Fate, Jaime and Luna think that the small town will be a nice, quiet place to heal and move on from the trauma of the war.In the aftermath of their mother's death, the Original Family is reeling, trying to find even footing with the knowledge that their mother came back to life solely to end all of theirs.  Hesitant, each desiring a cohesive family again, they make moves to easing and healing old wounds.  But there is still one more homicidal parent gunning for them, and there is no room for errors in war.SHORT HIATUS, **NOT** ABANDONED!





	1. one

_Here Lies Dobby, A Free Elf_

The words had faded somewhat from the long exposure to the salty sea air, but Jaime could still make out the words. She sat next to her small friend’s grave and gently traced the letters with one hand, over and over and over again. The wind off the sea lifted her hair around her face in a frenzy, but she had long since given up trying to control what her hair did. 

Sirius used to say that she had gotten the wild quality of both James and Lily’s hair; the thickness and length from Lily, the wild curls and color from James.

The sound of shifting sand through tall grass made her jolt and turn around, flicking her wrist instinctively, her wand shooting down into her hand from the holster tied to her forearm. Battle instincts raged high still, even in the eight months since the official end of the war. 

Andromeda Tonks was coming down the side of the small hill from Shell Cottage, little almost-nine-month-old Teddy holding onto her hands as she walked at his pace towards Jaime. Even from as far away as she was, Jaime could hear the little toddler’s babble as he shrieked with happiness at being outside. 

Jaime extended her hands when Teddy came near, and the little one almost threw himself into his godmother’s waiting arms, babbling incoherently all the while. His hair immediately changed color, darkening to pitch black as his eyes turned emerald green, his tiny hands patting his godmother’s shoulders in his excitement. 

Andromeda folded herself gracefully down besides Jaime, watching out of the corner of her eyes as Jaime settled the toddler in her lap, playing with his pudgy hands and making faces to his delight. She summoned some colorful balls and charmed them to always return to Teddy’s hands, giving him the toy much to his delight. No matter how far away he threw them, they would always come floating gently back. 

The two adults sat in silence for a long while before Jaime spoke up, speaking in soft tones so not to startle Teddy. 

“I wake up every morning and think that it is all a dream, that I am going to blink and we will be back in the tent, freezing cold, ready to fight for our lives at any given moment.” 

Andromeda did not turn to look at Jaime, instead, keeping her eyes focused on the distance where the ocean met the horizon. 

“I wake up and hear Teddy’s babbling, and sometimes I think I am back with my husband, Nymphadora playing in her nursery.” 

The losses hung heavy in the air; Cedric, the first one to be taken. Tonks, Remus, leaving behind another orphan of war. Sirius back when she was fifteen, a loss that she had never gotten over. Fred, Colin, Lavender, even Hedwig…all those lost to a senseless war. 

“You need to get away from this.” 

Jaime's head snapped up to meet Andromeda’s eyes for the first time of their conversation. She was shocked, and a little hurt, thinking that Andromeda was telling her that she was no longer welcome. 

But instead, all she saw in her gray eyes was…motherly compassion. And that made Jaime's throat want to close, made tears want to well up behind her eyes. She could count on one hand the number of times someone - not including Mrs. Weasley - had looked at her like that, and many of them had been in her dreams. 

“You are all just…just children. You are eighteen now, and you have suffered more than anyone will ever know. You need to be a teenager, see the world, leave this suffering behind.”

“But…the rebuilding efforts, the governmental overhauls - “

Andromeda gently shushed her, as she would shush Teddy. Not patronizingly, but parentally. 

“I know you and Hermione and Ron all want to be involved in the reconstruction. But believe that the Order and others will not allow it to become what it was. So many of the old heads have been arrested, there is almost no one left to bring about another war. I am taking the old Black seat as your proxy, since you do not want it, and Draco Malfoy has already reached out to me about taking the Malfoy seat and turning it into something good.” 

The last time Jaime and Draco Malfoy had seen each other, he and Blaise had been running through Hogwart’s destroyed halls, sending curses at their own fathers as they tried to protect some first years that had somehow gotten separated from the prefects leading the evacuation efforts.

Draco had made eye contact with her across the raging battle, rubble all around them. She had seen his mercury gray eyes flash with so many emotions she could not ever hope to read them, and then he had disappeared down a corridor, the first years following him closely. 

In the aftermath, she had seen him from a distance, exhausted, leaning against a pillar and holding onto his mother’s hand tightly, both of them stiff and bruised. Neither of them had been there thankfully when his father had been arrested trying to escape the battle; she knew that although he had made bad decisions, he was still Draco’s father, and they were still family. 

A good word - the true word - sent into the Minister before the trials was enough to make sure that Draco Malfoy would never see the inside of an Azkaban cell.

Many times she had put quill to parchment and tried to put her thoughts into words; tried to make herself write Let’s get a drink? but she could never do it. 

Cowardice was something she despised, but it was something she could not entirely escape from. And she did not know how to look him in the eye anymore, not when they had gone through what they had together. 

“You need time to heal. It’s alright to be selfish,” Andromeda continued. 

“What about Teddy?” Jaime motioned to the toddler in her lap, who was still happy and content even with the melancholy air around him. 

“What am I, flobberworm mucus? I can take care of him,” Andromeda retorted with the dignity of a queen. But Jaime could see grief behind her eyes, the loss of her only daughter and her husband weighing hard on her heart. But Teddy, her only grandson, was a balm to that pain. 

And although a part of Jaime railed against being sent away, or even willingly leaving her godson - Sirius had tried so hard with her, had tried so hard to be a good godfather, and she wished that Remus and Tonks had gotten the chance to be the greatest parents to Teddy - she knew that Teddy was needed more with Andromeda. And Teddy needed someone like Andromeda. He needed an adult, a parent, someone who knew what they were doing. 

She was still waking up every night with nightmares, still panicking and almost cursing people when they startled her. She knew that she could not take care of Teddy all the time, not yet. Sometimes, she could barely find it within herself to get out of bed. 

Maybe Andromeda was right…maybe she did need to get away from here. 

.  
.  
.  
.

 

“Oh, Jaime…” 

Jaime flinched, her shoulders pulling up to her ears automatically. 

Immediately, small hands were on her shoulders, thumbs pressing soothingly against her tense muscles. 

“No, no! Jaime, I am not judging you,” her best friend soothed, and Jaime’s eyes flicked up to meet Hermione’s, “Not at all. I think that you’re right, I think Andromeda is right. I think we all need to get away from here.” 

Now looking closer at her best friend, she realized just how exhausted Hermione looked. The bags underneath her eyes seemed to be permanent, dark like bruises. Her hair, wilder than Jaime’s own, was tied up in a messy bun, frizz sticking out every-which-way. She was pale, her lips a little raw from being bitten and chewed on; it was a nervous tick that Hermione had had for as long as she had known her. 

“Hermione, is everything alright?” 

Hermione smiled and waved her question off, “Everything is as fine as it can be. It’s been a rough week, the full moon is in two days, and although the Wolfsbane potion works wonders, there is only so much you can do with the side-effects,” she explained. 

Jaime wanted to smack herself; how could she forget about the full moon? 

Viktor Krum had been a constant fixture for them throughout the war. He had appeared at the Weasley house for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, the Bulgarian Quidditch player having stayed close friends with Fleur after the games. 

He had come with them by accident when the Death Eaters had attacked the wedding, having been dancing with Hermione when everything happened. 

He stayed with them, his superior knowledge of the Dark Arts a great help to them in their search for the horcruxes and a way to destroy them. 

Viktor’s presence had been a source of tension in the beginning, culminating in the awful night when Ron had stormed away from their tent and left them all behind. But when Ron had come back, he and Viktor slowly became brothers-in-arms in every sense of the word…once the bitterness and anger had abated a bit. 

The fact that Viktor did save Ron’s life did go a long way to helping Ron warm up to the Bulgarian. When Slytherin’s necklace had almost strangled and drowned Ron in the depths of that lake, Viktor had been the one to dive in and drag him out. He had long been used to the freezing cold and swimming in icy water, thanks to where he had grown up and the training he had gone through when he was professionally playing Quidditch.

Viktor had been bitten on a full moon one night when they were tracking down a lead in Albania. It had been an awful few days of trying to heal him with their limited supplies, and then the awful months that followed as he tried to get through each transformation without Wolfsbane potion. 

Throughout it all, Hermione had been a firm fixture by his side, soothing his horrific headaches and overstimulated senses, trying to find any and all ways to make healing potions for the aftermath, casting wards and making sure that he would be able to run without endangering people. She had been there every morning after to help piece him together, to sooth away the nightmares that would wake him in a cold sweat. And Viktor had been, for lack of a better world, a beast in his single-minded pursuit to protect Hermione during the fighting.

“How is he doing?” Jaime asked softly. 

Hermione sighed. “He’s…doing better. It was so different during the war, when the transformations meant that he was wild since there was no one to brew the potions. He didn’t remember the transformations then, but now…now it’s a battle for him, one he is going to take some time to get used to. He is doing better though, and now that we are back at his family manor, the wards there make it easier for him to be contained to the grounds.” 

She squeezed Hermione’s hands. 

“You know you can always talk to me about this, right?” Jaime reassured, hoping that she had not been so distant as to not be there for her friend when Hermione needed her. 

Jaime would have died her second year of Hogwarts if it weren’t for Hermione, let alone making it through the rest of Hogwarts and then the war. 

“I know,” Hermione squeezed her hands back, “And I appreciate it immensely. Maybe we need to take a holiday as well, get away from Bulgaria and Britain.” 

“Ron will definitely agree. From what I can gather from the letters, he and Pansy are settling in pretty well together in Italy. Posy loves it there, and Pansy will not want to come back while her father's trial is still going on,” Hermione mused aloud. 

Jaime snorted loudly. 

That was an unseen couple coming out of the war. 

Pansy had shown up near one of Draco’s safe houses about six months after Bill and Fleur’s wedding, her five year old sister wrapped up in her arms. Pansy's dress had been ripped, she had been bleeding from large gashes all over her body, but she still had a proud, haughty look on her face even as she asked for help. 

Pansy refused to speak of what made her flee her home with her little sister, but the bruises marring her skin on her wrists, throat, hips and thighs painted a brutal picture. Little Posy did not understand what was happening, but she was glad to be away from the Parkinson home which had been overrun with Death Eater forces. 

Ron had not agreed with them providing the girls shelter, still bitter and angry over everything that occurred throughout their years at Hogwarts, but Jaime had slapped the back of his head and made him be polite at least. 

And slowly, the barbed words and angry glares had melted away a bit, largely in part to Posy. 

Posy had reminded Ron a lot of the time when he and Ginny had been really close as children. Posy, for some reason, seemed to cling to Ron’s side, always wanting to be near him. And as angry as Ron was at the Parkinson (and any Slytherin family in general), you would have had to be heartless to want to push away Posy, who stared up at him all the time like he was a hero out of some fairytale. 

When the war had ended, Pansy had stayed long enough to gather the last of what she wanted from her ancestral home, switch all the accounts to her name and her name only, and then she went to Italy with her sister. It took three months of moping and then finally, a drunken night where he broke down and sobbed, for Ron to suck up his pride and go join her. 

It was strange for them all to not be together; from the time they were eleven, Jaime, Hermione and Ron had been at school, with each other every day, spending holidays at each other’s homes. Now, they were all off doing their own thing, trying to heal wounds, trying to move forward. 

“Jaime…” Hermione trailed off, and when Jaime turned around, she was startled to see tears welling in the older girl’s eyes. 

“‘Mione, wha-“

Hermione enveloped Jaime in a hug, and Jaime immediately wrapped her arms around her friend, taking comfort in the contact. They stood there for a long time, before Hermione pulled back and wiped her eyes. She smiled tremulously, before squeezing Jaime’s shoulders one more time and then stepping back. 

“Just…have fun, alright? No life-threatening danger, no megalomaniacs intent on committing genocide, just…be safe and have fun. And if you find that you don’t want to come back - no, don’t interrupt! - I would never blame you for it, look at all the horrific things you have had to deal with here…just...don’t feel guilty for chasing your own happiness this time, alright?” 

Jaime found her own eyes prickling with tears now. She nodded, swallowing down the lump in her throat. 

“I’ll try, ‘Mione. I’ll try.” 

“Good, that’s all I ask. And write to me all the time.”

“Of course!" 

.  
.  
.  
.

With the blessing of her friends - Hermione must have written to Ron, because he had written to her three days after their conversation in his nearly unreadable scrawl, telling her to _“get the bloody hell out of magical Britain, for your own damn sanity”_ and letting her know _“there is always a guest room here for you, Pansy actually misses you if you believe it or not”_ \- Jaime actually started thinking more and more about where she would even go, or if she would even have the courage to leave. 

She had always had a goal, even just to survive, and now... she felt…aimless. 

She had gone to 12 Grimmauld Place, but it was haunted by too many ghosts for her. Too many thoughts about what things would have been like if Sirius were still alive and she had her godfather finally. 

The Dursleys had been moved back into Number Four Privet Drive, but Jaime would honestly rather fight a dragon again without a wand than go back to the home that was the source of all her childhood misery. 

She had visited her parent’s grave again, leaving flowers and talking to them as if they could hear her. The Resurrection Stone was in her possession, since she did not trust that someone would not find it on the ground of the Forbidden Forest. She had cleaved it in two with Gryffindor’s sword and given one half to Hermione, keeping the other for herself. From the story told of the Three Brothers and the wisdom that Dumbledore had given her, she knew that she could never truly bring back the dead, even though she constantly wished she could talk to her parents again. 

She had had a tombstone erected next to her parent’s for Sirius, and had visited Remus and Tonk’s graves with Teddy. 

She hung around various graveyards more than she was back home in the tiny flat she had rented in Diagon Alley. Too much of her time was spent with the dead. 

Ironic, considering that technically, she was “Master of Death.” 

But today was going to be the first time that she visited this particular grave since she was fifteen years old. 

She climbed up the hill of Ottery St. Catchpole on the other side of the Burrow. In one direction, lay the Rook, Luna’s home, newly repaired after the war. In the other…the Diggory’s. 

She stopped in front of the large willow tree, the small gate opening up as she approached. She sank down on the neatly trimmed grass, and looked at the tombstone. 

“Hey Cedric,” she whispered, letting her hand run over the letters of his name, steadfastly avoiding looking at the dates of his birth and death. 

She leaned against the willow tree, her right shoulder pressed to the stone. 

“I am sorry I haven’t been here in a while…the past few years…well, it’s been a battle,” she chuckled grimly to herself. 

She looked up through the frond of the willow to the sky, and had to fight back tears at the thought of the last time she had been here when Cedric had been alive. 

It was a precious memory that she kept deep within herself, one she had called upon several times to drive away dementors as well as escape the despair and fear that came with the war. 

“The war is over, and I don’t…I don’t know what to do with myself. I spend more time visiting the dead than I do seeing anyone living. Ron is in Italy with Pansy - and wasn’t that a strange pairing - and Hermione is with Viktor, and everyone else seems to be moving forward. I just…I feel stuck.” 

Brow furrowed, she shifted to get more comfortable against the tree, the bark digging into her shoulder through the thin shirt she had donned for today. 

“Andromeda and Hermione and Ron and all the Weasley, even Mrs. Weasley, have told me that maybe I should take a break, leave Magical Britain. But where would I go? What would I do? I have been fighting for almost all my life, I don’t know how not to…”

The tears finally rolled down her cheeks. 

“Do you remember how we said that we would travel the world and see everything? Camp atop the Great Wall of China, hike throughout the Outback, go cliff diving in New Zealand? I don’t know how to get excited about that again. I have had enough adventure for a lifetime, but I don’t…I don’t know how to just live.”

“I miss you,” she cried, finally letting the building emotion burst out of her chest, “I miss you _so much_ and it _never_ stops hurting-" 

She sat next to Cedric’s grave and cried, cried so hard she could feel her ribs aching after a while. All the while, the willow fronds around her swayed from side to side in the wind, and the silence reigned. 

Just another lonely moment surrounded by ghosts and grief. 

The sun was sinking lower in the sky when a soft, whimsical voice jolted her out of her thoughts, tears still dripping off her swollen cheeks. 

“Tears have magical healing properties, don’t they?” 

Jaime turned and saw Luna leaning against the small fence, a bundle of wildflowers held in one hand. Her blond hair was just starting to grow long again, the loose curls touching her shoulders. She was dressed in her normal jean overalls, a loose-fitting shirt with stars decorating it underneath, her radish earrings dangling from her earlobes. 

Luna breezed through the fence, and plopped down onto the grass near Jaime, facing Cedric’s grave. She propped the wildflowers next to it, arranging them in some sort of pattern that only Luna knew. 

“Luna, what-“

“You should know the power of tears, Harriet James Potter, you were healed by some before.” 

Not even attempting to try to puzzle through how Luna would know about how Fawkes had healed her with his tears - she could not recall if she had ever told anyone about that part of the adventure in the Chamber - Jaime just settled back and watched her friend continued to arrange the flowers. 

“Ginny told me how you are thinking about leaving,” Luna started, her voice airy and nonchalant, no judgement whatsoever in her tone. 

Jaime didn’t answer, just nodded. 

“If you would like a buddy, I too find myself stifled in Britain,” Luna said offhandedly. 

Jaime looked closer at her friend; she could see the minute strain in Luna’s eyes, turning down the corners of her eyes and mouth. The stress and strain of sleepless nights leaving the tiniest hint of bags underneath the odd girl’s luminous eyes. And of course, the thin, pale scar that cut through Luna’s left eyebrow, narrowly missing her eye, continuing down her cheek before ending right at her jaw. 

More relieved than she imagined she would be, she reached out and took the younger girl’s hand. Luna did not look directly at her, but immediately held tight to her hand.

“I would love to have you come with me…if I even knew where to go,” Jaime admitted. 

Luna smiled, and this smile transformed her face. She looked…hopeful. Young. Bright. 

“I have an idea.” 

.  
.  
.  
.

Luna led her back to the Rook. The front garden looked minutely overrun, as if it were too much work for one person to meticulously maintain. 

Xeno Lovegood had died in the Final Battle. Luna had been the one to find him, a determined look forever on his face and his wand clutched in his hand, surrounded by the bodies of four Death Eaters. Luna had clutched him and cried, then brought him home to bury next to her mother. She comforted herself with the thought that he might be happy and content, finally with his beloved wife. 

The two girls passed by the silent Quibbler equipment, some stacks of paper still in the place they had been months ago, as if they were just waiting for someone to come back and move them. 

Luna brought her to another room off of the kitchen that was covered in various maps of the world. Some still had little markers, color-coded strings connecting some of them.

“Close your eyes, point, and spin around,” Luna directed Jaime. 

Puzzled but amused, the black haired girl did as she was bid, clasping one hand over her eyes and under her glasses, spinning around several times before stopping. 

When she uncovered her eyes, she was surprised to see a map of the United States in front of her. 

There were not many magical wizards in the United States, she remembered from the offhand talk she had heard from the Weasley family and from lessons from Remus during their third year. There were some small towns throughout the country where many magical beings congregated, and there was a larger population in most major cities, but the majority of the country was filled with Naturals, or Wiccan witches. Those who channeled the magic from the land around them, not the magic that was inherently within them.

The Salem Witch Trials in Massachusetts had been the last time that Wiccans and witches had lived closely together; too many lives had been lost in that feud, and wizarding kind pulled away, wiping memories and completely disconnecting from their “cousins.” 

Luna appeared next to her. A muggle dart was balanced on the girl’s slender fingers, and she was bobbling it back and forth, balancing the weight like she often balanced her wand when she was deep in thought.

“East or West?” 

Looking at the map, Jaime chose “East,” reasoning that while it was still across the ocean, the East coast was closer to Britain than the West coast was. She wanted to leave Britain, but she wanted the sense of connection to the familiar as well. 

She remembered some of the history lessons of the thirteen colonies and the American rebellion from her time in muggle schooling when she was younger, but not much else truthfully. Wherever they ended up, she was going to be going in with fresh eyes. 

Luna stepped closer to the East coast side of the map, contemplating the states and the lines criss-crossing the black borders. 

She whispered something underneath her breath, causing the dart in her hand to glow the slightest bit. Then, with surprising force, she threw the dart and watched it fly straight and true into the map, landing firmly with a dull thud. 

“What was that charm?” 

“It was a small charm my mother used to say whenever she wanted direction,” Luna stepped closer to the map, looking at where the dart had landed. 

Jaime leaned over Luna’s shoulder and looked at the map as well. 

“Well…Mystic Falls, Virginia sounds reasonably magical,” Jaime joked, excitement building underneath her skin like carbonation on a soda. 

Luna cocked her head to the side and examined it, before proclaiming, “It should certainly be interesting.” 

The two girls locked eyes, suddenly grinning like mad fools. 

“Let us start packing then, shall we?” 

.  
.  
.  
.

_Two Months Later - July 12th_

Elena sighed. 

Here she was, being the Sad, Creepy Graveyard Girl again. 

Her journal was in her lap, her pen held limply in one hand. For the first time in her life, she had no words to write, nothing to say or to think. Just her surrounded by all those that she had lost. 

Her mother and father. Jenna. John. 

She knew she was lucky, knew that she had escaped becoming a vampire by the skin of her teeth and the sacrifice of the biological father that she had never made her peace with. It was just another burden on her heart, more guilt on her shoulders.

Caroline would be concerned, and so would Bonnie, if they knew just how much time she was spending in the graveyard again. Alaric was often too out of it, drowning in his own grief of losing Jenna, to notice that she was spending a lot of her time in the cemetery. 

Thankfully, Jeremy was in Colorodo, visiting some distant cousins of theirs. He was happy, she could hear it in his voice when he called her every Wednesday and Sunday night. He was away from the drama of Mystic Falls, able to be a teenager and able to enjoy himself without constantly looking over his shoulder. She was able to put a note of happiness in her voice when she talked to him so he would not be concerned, and it seemed to be working.

Damon and Stefan would be worried - well, Damon would. Stefan was still detoxing and he didn’t much care much about anyone right now. Damon was worried whenever she was alone because he were afraid that Klaus was going to swoop in and kidnap her, take her off to god knew where to use her blood to make more hybrids. 

Stefan was concerned about that as well, but with how manic his emotions were, he was more concerned about Klaus getting something he wanted than he was concerned about Elena’s life.

Ever since the Original siblings - all of them, and how horrifying was it that almost every single one was still in town - had been forced to kill their mother, things had been quiet. Finn Mikaelson was dead, and so was his entire sire line. Another hurdle to face if they ever were to try and kill Klaus again.

Giving up, Elena shut her journal and slid the elastic into place to hold it shut, tucking her pen through the loop. She leaned her head back against the tree she was sitting under, letting the sun warm her face and shoulders. She closed her eyes and tried to relax even the slightest bit.

Summer was slowly slipping away. They were all due to start their senior year of high school a month. 

How mundane was that now that they all knew the supernatural world existed. Caroline, the bubbly and optimistic person she was, was determined to make it a great senior year, to have the fun they would have had had things been different. 

Elena couldn’t fathom going to classes, being around all the other teenagers in her year who didn’t have the faintest idea they were living on a supernatural battle ground. The thought of lunch hour, study blocks, college applications and decade dances seemed so...trivial.

She could not imagine graduating, going to college, leaving Mystic Falls behind when she was the doppelgänger, when there was always going to be some vampire or other supernatural creature gunning for her or her friends and family. Her dreams of going to college and studying English and publishing a book didn’t fit anymore, like a favorite sweater she had unfortunately outgrown but could not throw out even though she could not wear it. She felt like she was doomed to live and die here in the midst of the battle between vampires and werewolves and witches and now, hybrids, nothing more than a pawn for anyone to wield as they willed.

“Elena?"

Groaning internally, she opened her eyes and looked up at the figure who had appeared all but silently before her. 

Caroline stood there, hands on her hips, dressed impeccably in a pale pink sundress, her hair curled and loose around her shoulders and delicate white sandals on her feet. Her toes were even painted the same pale pink as her dress. 

“Hey Care, what’s going on?” Elena asked as if her friend had found her in the grocery store or in a coffee shop and not sitting by the graves of her family. 

Caroline hesitated, clearly debating if she should voice her concerns, but seeing the look on Elena’s face, the blond decided against it. 

“I was worried about you, you weren’t answering your phone. Did you forget that you were going to meet Bonnie and I at the Grill for lunch?” 

Elena slapped a palm to her forehead, cursing under her breath. 

Caroline giggled, before reaching down and wriggling her fingers, pulled Elena up with her superior strength. 

“Thought so. Come on, Bonnie is waiting there for us.” 

Letting Caroline vampire speed them to the Grill, the two girls walked in and crossed the space to the high-top table that Bonnie was sitting at. 

“Hey Elena,” Bonnie chirped, purposefully keeping her voice light and carefree. 

The three teenagers settled in together, glancing over the menu as if they did not have the entire thing memorized. Matt crossed over and exchanged greetings, albeit awkwardly with Elena and Caroline. Elena couldn’t look him in the eyes, and Caroline purposefully kept her gaze bright and open. 

After taking their orders, Matt then scurried away as quickly as he could without looking as if he were running away. 

Caroline turned back to her two friends and went with an air of mystery to her voice, “So, in other non-dramatic-non-supernatural news, there are newcomers in town!” 

Fear shot down Elena’s back, and Bonnie looked concerned as well, before Caroline immediately interjected, “No, no, like totally normal! Two girls, about our age, both of them emancipated minors. They have bought the old Greenberg house near the outskirts of town. They must have inherited a lot from their family, because that house is not cheap.” 

“The old Victorian style one?” Bonnie asked, remembering the Greenbergs. They had been a wealthy family that had moved away when they were all in elementary school; no one had ever bought the house. It had fallen a little bit into disrepair, although it was still a grand, beautiful house. 

“Yeah, that one. There have been movers in and out of it for the past few weeks, fixing it up. Mom went out to see what was going on and to welcome them, and she said the girls are really nice. British, too.” 

Elena was still uneasy, wondering if these were more vampires, allies of the Originals. Wondered if there would be more bloodshed in the future. 

“Don’t worry, they are not vampires, they had no lapis rings or anything on when Mom met them. They were standing in direct sunlight. Nothing fishy so far. They seem to be pretty normal.” 

“Well…that’s good at least,” Bonnie hedged, still exchanging uncertain looks with Elena. 

Caroline threw her hands up in the air, “Okay, so maybe there is something weird about it, but we cannot be that paranoid. I am going to make a casserole or something like that and head over there to welcome there when they move in in a few days, and I can get the scoop then.”

“Be careful, Care,” Bonnie warned. The Wiccan knew that more often than not, people were not what they appeared to be. She loathed the idea of her friend being hurt or being put in danger because she wanted to believe in the best in people. 

“I always am! I have a good feeling about this,” the blond bobbed optimistically from side to side, a bright smile on her face. 

Elena found herself still doubtful, even as she pretended to smile brightly at her friend. She did not want to dampen Caroline’s mood. 

Then again, hope springs eternal. Maybe these two girls were just trying to start over. Maybe they would be normal and not end up caught up in the supernatural drama. Maybe they had come to Mystic Falls because they used to have family here, or any other perfectly reasonable explanation for why this town than anywhere else in Virginia. 

_Yeah,_ Elena mused bitterly to herself, _when has that hope ever worked out for us?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~Oh man, what the hell am I doing right now...~~
> 
>  
> 
> So, this is my first time posting _any_ of my writing since I was probably like, thirteen years old. Normally my fics sit on my laptop, gathering dust, my eyes the only ones to see them. 
> 
> This brain child fic of mine is in part inspired by a fic over on FanFiction by whitedwarf called “Unexpected Happenings,” where a female!Harry Potter comes to the states to heal her magic and ends up tied up in all the drama of Mystic Falls. I love that fic a lot, as well and whitedwarf’s characterization of Fem!Harry, and it inspired me to write something of my own. This is the first time that I have written something in so, so long…thought I might as well dive back in here. It started off small, and then snowballed into this monster with an actual _plot_ and I decided that maybe it is time to start sharing my writing again. 
> 
> I am writing the Wizarding War differently, because I wanted to torture the characters a bit more and I really wanted to dive into a darker, more scarring (even though it was plenty harsh the first time) experience for the characters. 
> 
> Fair warning, I am also not going to follow the timeline or canon closely for Vampire Diaries. I am doing whatever the hell I want with it. This will happen roughly nine months after the Wizarding War has ended, and for the TVD storyline, it will occur after Klaus breaks his hybrid curse/when Stefan goes full Ripper, but I don’t know well enough the timeline anymore (it’s been a while since I have watched the show) so just go along with my made up storyline/timeline. I swear it will all make sense, just suspend your disbelief please. 
> 
> Drop me a comment, let me know if you like this idea, if you hate it, if I should just go back to hoarding my own writing for my own enjoyment instead of making other people suffer while reading it, etc.!


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos, comments, and subscriptions! I hope you guys like this chapter. I am really excited to be writing this story for you all!
> 
> Also, meant to mention in the first chapter that the name of this fic comes from the song “Torches” by  
> the X Ambassadors. Highly recommend that you listen to the song!

_July 15th_

“Luna, are you sure this house isn’t a little…ostentatious?” 

Luna didn’t bat an eye, instead cast her eyes around to make sure that there was no one around before she flicked her wand and started levitating the few trunks they had left into the house. 

Thankfully, this home had come furnished, although some of it had to be restored. The home was decadent, an old Victorian-style house that was several stories tall, with a widow’s peak and a large front porch and even a pool off to the side. The front rooms were bright and airy, and there was even a library. 

Hermione would love it whenever she came to visit. 

It was the kind of home that only appeared on the cover of magazines. But with the money they both had pooled together, it was more than enough for them to buy this house for the short term, and in the long term…well, real estate was always something that one could invest in. 

Part of Jaime railed against spending this much money in one go; that was the part of her who had to steal change from the couch of the Dursley’s home to even just treat herself to an ice cream once every few months. It was the part of her that had never seen any of her inheritance from her parents until she was eleven, it was the part of her that was so used to doing without she still sometimes forgot that she could afford to buy luxury things. 

Luna had all but had to sit on her to get her to agree to this; although both of them were open to traveling around the country - made so much easier with their international apparition permit, which, thanks to Hermione, they got at unheard of speeds before they left Britain - both of them did not relish the thought of living out of a suitcase, even a magically enlarged one. 

Luna had grown up always knowing a home to return to, and Jaime had always wanted that, a place to feel like home. So, they decided to buy one in the tiny town of Mystic Falls that their “Point Me in a Direction” charmed dart had led them to. 

It was a cute small town, maybe two hours drive away from the closest city. There was a small population, a lot of history, and so many trees and woods. Luna was thrilled; she couldn’t wait to explore the forest for magical creatures that might not have been discovered or even heard of. 

Jaime had been a little concerned when she had research the town with Hermione and saw that there were a lot of weird deaths that occurred in the area, but Viktor had pointed out to his nervous girlfriend and to Jaime that both girls were exceptionally powerful witches with pretty much unofficial masteries in wards, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and dueling. There was a very slim chance that they would ever meet a threat they could not take down separately, let alone together. 

Now, about two months later, they were officially moving into their home. 

Jaime walked slowly up the grand staircase and underneath the crystal chandelier, turning to the right on the landing. The girls had picked their own rooms previously, Luna spouting some tale about how each of their moon signs would affect where their auras would be in most alignment in the house. 

Jaime got the room that overlooked the front of the house, with large windows facing North. There would be constant sun during the day, which was important to her. Too many days spent locked in that stupid cupboard underneath the stairs, and then too many days in the tent, or a cave, or some hidden safe house in the dark made her despise the thought of living in a dark home. 

Her bed was a large four poster that looked uncannily like the one she had slept in at Hogwarts, covered in crimson sheets with large, fluffy pillows. There was some dark stained wooden furniture to match her bed in the room already, and she knew that she only had a fraction of clothes needed to even fill them slightly. 

Smiling slightly, she was glad to flick her wand and watch as her collection of photos - magical and muggle - drifted from her trunk at the foot of her bed to hang on the walls. 

There were the photos of her parents that Hagrid had given her all those years ago as a gift, where a healthy and vibrant Sirius laughed and stood by her father and mother at their wedding. There were photos from Hogwarts, her and Hermione and Ron looking like little imps, grinning at the camera and shoving each other. 

A photo of the four Triwizard contestants during a rare moment when they were all able to hang around together. That one was harder to look at, seeing her own happier self laughing, perched in Cedric’s lap, as Viktor and Cedric play-fought each other for the last sandwich. Fleur looked unearthly beautiful reclining in the background, reading a book and ignoring the antics of the other two boys.

Other photos from those happy pre-War memories, and then some sadder ones. 

Photos of Draco’s back, of Blaise’s exhausted profile, a scarred Pansy and sad Posy leaning heavily against the wall of a safe house, Ron’s imposing bulk in the background. Photos that were memories, reminders to her to not drop her guard, to let go but to never forget the sacrifices and pain that they had endured. 

Feeling slightly melancholy now, she turned to the closet, waving her wand and casting some cleaning spells to air out the space. She rolled up her sleeves and got to work. 

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Caroline straightened her sundress, making sure there were no wrinkles and that her hair was still in the curls she had done this morning. The baked macaroni and cheese dish she had made was sitting in the passenger seat, four decorated cupcakes she had made herself in a special case above it. 

Elena and Bonnie might be hesitant, but Caroline wanted to believe in the best for these two girls. She did not know if they were going to be in her classes this year, or if they were even transferring into high school, but she wanted to make friends with them. 

She could only imagine how it must be, moving across the ocean with only a friend, all family either dead or left behind. 

So, bright, sunny smile on her face, she got out of the car, grabbed the food, and came up the front walk. 

Whoever had fixed up the house had done a good job. The grass was freshly mowed, some flowers springing up here and there. The bushes in front of the large porch were well maintained, and the windows gleamed as if someone had just finished washing them. 

There was no car, but then again, the detached garage door was down. 

Caroline knocked primly on the large wooden door, hoping that the girls were actually there. 

With her enhanced hearing, to her relief she heard someone on the second floor yell, “I have it!” and then the sound of feet padding against the stairs. A brief pause, and then the lock was disengaging on the door and opening, and she was staring down at a tiny, petite girl. 

She had light, almost white-blond hair that curled and just brushed her shoulders. She was barefoot, wearing a yellow dress that seemed a size or two too big for her small frame. Her eyes were a luminous silver-gray, almost like moonlight. 

There was a narrow scar cutting across her face, through her left eyebrow and then angling down past the outer corner of her eye, disappearing across her cheek around the side of her face. 

Caroline took in all the details of this small girl in one second, before smiling bright and bobbing slightly on the balls of her feet. 

“Hi! My name is Caroline Forbes, my mom is the sheriff. She told me that she introduced herself to you and your friend a while back when you were first looking at the house! I just wanted to bring by some food and say welcome to Mystic Falls!” 

The girl looked at her, puzzled for a few moments, her brow furrowed, and a few seconds before Caroline would have gotten a little bit uneasy, her face broke into a brilliant smile. 

“Hello Caroline. I’m Luna, Luna Lovegood,” her voice was light and airy, almost whimsical, like the kind of voice that one would use when telling a fairytale to a child. “Thank you very much for the welcome. Come in,” Luna stepped back opening up the door so Caroline could cross the threshold. 

Inwardly thankful that Luna had invited her in, she stepped forward into the cooler house. 

There were boxes and large, wooden trunks everywhere. Some furniture was rearranged, some still covered in protective white sheets. 

“Come, the kitchen is this way,” Luna motioned to the left, and led Caroline through the threshold into the kitchen that was already decently set up. 

The appliances looked new; not top of the line, but modern enough to tell Caroline that these girls must have some money to their names. There were more boxes, labeled in neat handwriting with “Cooking Supplies” or “P. Ingredients” or “Hermione Insisted On This." In an old mason jar on top of the kitchen table was a small bouquet of handpicked wildflowers. 

Caroline put the macaroni and cheese on the counter, the cupcakes beside it. 

“You can just pop the macaroni and cheese into the oven for a few minutes, or microwave it, whichever is easier. I made the cupcakes, I hope you like them!” 

Before Luna could answer, another feminine voice called from the second floor, “Luna, who was at the door?” 

Luna called back up, “Come down and meet her!” 

Caroline heard someone - taller, heavier than Luna by the sound of her feet on the wood of the stairs - walk towards them, and then appear in the kitchen doorway, blinking slightly in surprise. 

“Oh, hello!” 

She was taller than Luna, but still not as tall as Caroline when she was not wearing heels. Her hair was a mess, the blackest color that she had ever seen before. It was pulled into a messy bun, some tendrils escaping and floating through the air like a mad scientists. 

Her eyes were a bright, luminescent green. Caroline had never seen eyes that color: they were like two emeralds in her face, jewel toned and sparkling. 

There was a pale pink scar on her forehead, just underneath her bangs in the shape of a lightning bolt. She was built like a long distance runner; all lanky, wry muscles. She was in a pair jeans that were much too large for her, held up with an old belt, battered black Converse sneakers, and a plain white t-shirt. 

She was the kind of effortless pretty that the small, neurotic, insecure part of Caroline was always jealous of. She looked natural and effortless, with a kind of easy grace that came with being comfortable in ones own skin. 

“Hello, I’m Caroline!” She forcibly pulled herself out of her thoughts and reached out a hand. 

The girl leaned forward and shook Caroline’s hand firmly, a small, slightly guarded smile on her face. 

“Hello, I’m Jaime Potter.” 

“Nice to meet you,” Caroline responded. 

Luna addressed Jaime from behind Caroline, a note of delight in her voice. 

“She had made us dinner! We will not have to hunt down takeaway tonight. And you must try these cupcakes, they remind of pudding at school.” 

Jaime smiled more genuinely at the blond vampire then. 

“Oh, thank you so much. Neither of us were relishing the thought of trying to find dinner tonight, and we have no groceries in the house.” 

Caroline shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide how happy she was that her gesture of goodwill had been so well received. 

“Here, have a cupcake that you made with us!” Luna shoved a cupcake at Caroline, and the blond vampire took one with a smile and sat down at the kitchen bar. 

“Water? I would offer you some more options, but for right now we only have water,” Jaime joked, taking some glasses out of the cupboards. 

“Sure!” 

The three girls sat around the kitchen island, chattering mindlessly as they dug into the cupcake. 

Jaime groaned as she took a bite of the red velvet cupcake in her hands. 

“Oh bloody hell, this is delicious,” she gushed, before taking another giant bite of the cupcake. 

“I’m glad you like them,” Caroline thanked, blushing slightly. 

“So, where are you two from?” 

“The accent didn’t give it away?” Jaime teased, before she answered, “I’m from just outside of London, Luna is from further out of the city. We went to boarding school together in Scotland.” 

Caroline leaned forward excitedly, “I have always wanted to go to London! What was your favorite part about living there?”

“I personally love the city. I was only able to go a few times in my life, but the London Eye always gave you such marvelous views of the city,” Jaime described, warmly remembering the rare times she had been able to go into the city. Petunia and Vernon hated it, with all the people and the mad rushing around. Vernon had always complained about the expense as well. 

Sirius hadn’t cared. He had frankly been quite put out when Jaime had refused to go on a shopping spree at Harrods. 

Caroline took a sip of water before she gently started to probe. “What made you two decide to come to Mystic Falls, of all places? It can’t be more interesting or fun than London, let alone anywhere else in Europe.”

“A dart thrown at a map, if you would believe it,” Luna answered, delicately sucking some frosting off of her thumb. “We finished school, and we needed a change.” 

Caroline blurted out her next question without thinking about it, only to immediately regret it.

“Is it just you two? Did your family not move with you?” 

Immediately, it felt like all the happiness and lightheartedness got sucked out of the room. Luna’s face fell, grief clear as day across her face. Jaime’s face went hard and cold, distant, her eyes no longer sparkling with life but instead as impenetrable as a brick wall. 

The silence reigned for a few moments, before Caroline slapped a hand over her mouth. 

“I’m so sorry,” she apologized, wincing internally, “just ignore me, I’m so sorry.” 

“It’s alright,” Jaime reassured, but she still looked distant. 

“My mother and father died in a car accident when I was a toddler,” Jaime said with the air of someone who had long ago perfected the art of telling painful truths. Seemingly without thinking about it, Jaime touched the scar on her forehead, and Caroline wondered if that was where she had gotten it from. 

“I lived with my aunt and my uncle while I was growing up and then throughout the holidays when I was at my boarding school, but as soon as I graduated and was able to, I got the hell out of there.” 

Jaime stood up, putting the plate in the sink. She purposefully started watching it, taking much longer than need be for one plate. Luna looked more composed now, and she answered Caroline’s question after a moment’s pause. 

“My mother died when I was eight in a chemistry accident when she was working, and my father died not long after my graduation.” 

Luna tried to stick as close to the truth as she could, but her father’s death was still too raw for her to try and find a way to explain how her father died fighting Death Eaters. 

Caroline felt awful; she had not meant to dig up bad memories, or to remind these girls of what they were trying to escape. 

God, all these poor teenagers losing their parents so young…Jaime, Luna, Elena and Jeremy, even herself losing her father…

Caroline waved her hands through the air as if she could banish the negativity in the air. 

_"Anyway,_ my complete lack of tact aside, I am so sorry again, but what are you guys planning to do? Are you going to do school here?” 

Jaime snorted in a very unladylike manner; Andromeda would have despaired her manners. Before she had left Britain, Andromeda had taken to teaching her more about the ancient pure blood traditions. Andromeda had scoffed at many of them, but she knew knowledge was a weapon. And Jaime, being the sole heir to the Noble Potter House as well as the legal heir (thanks a _lot,_ Sirius) to the Ancient and Noble House of Black, would need to know the traditions in order to know the power she now held. 

Still, Jaime had been raised muggle, and then broke numerous rules throughout her time at Hogwarts, unintentionally of course. But still, she was not like Pansy who was raised to be the Heiress of her house; that kind of grace and regality was never something that would come easy to Jaime, no matter how much she practiced. 

“Oh hell no. We have both gotten our degrees already, even though Luna is a year younger than me. We are here mainly to just immerse ourselves in American culture, explore more, hang around,” the unsaid , _“heal”_ as well was there. 

“Well, you are definitely welcome to come to the dances and things. We tend to have a lot of decade themed dances, I am on the planning committee for most of them, and I’ll have to introduce you to my friends, Bonnie, Matt, Elena and her brother Jeremy,” Caroline conned to babble, filling the air and alleviating the tension. 

She told them about the small town and the offering it made, the hiking they could do if they were into it, the Falls where they would have their parties, the decade dances, the Grill which was really the only place in town that they could eat out, and her own anecdotal stories about growing up in the small town.

After a little bit, the two British girls were laughing, the previous uncomfortableness forgotten. 

And about an hour later when Caroline excused herself, she left the house with a bright smile on her face, thrilled at the thought that maybe they would all be able to be normal with these two girls.

As the door shut behind the blond, Jaime threw the lock on the door and leaned her forehead against the cool wood, begging Merlin for patience. 

She waited until she heard Caroline drive down the driveway and down the road before she spoke. 

Turning to face her friend who was still perched at the kitchen island, legs crossed as she ate the last cupcake unrepentantly, Jaime arched an eyebrow. 

“Want to tell me why you invited a _vampire_ into our house?” 

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_Third Year - Defense Against the Dark Arts Class_

Professor Lupin had not been happy when he came back and saw what Professor Snape had assigned them in his absence, but he had taken it with grace that, looking back, Jaime could only admire him for. He had continued their lessons, going in depth with the different strains of vampirism and lycanthropy that they might run into. 

“Vampires are very diverse, not that many know that. In Europe, the mythology that is commonly known is the Muggle story of 'Dracula.' Muggle media has many different versions of a vampire or a werewolf, and many of them are based in fact. There are various types of vampires and werewolves. And even making it more complicated is the fact that vampires turned from muggles differ from vampires turn from wizards.” 

Remus flicked his want and the slide projecting onto the board shifted, showing a dramatic painting of a pale figure with unearthly ice blue eyes. 

“There are the Corvinus vampires and the Corvinus werewolves. that vampires instead comes from a virus that mutated in a single muggle family in Hungary.” Another flick of his wand, and the photo changed to that of a giant lupine figure, snarling viciously.

“These bites have changed and mutated with the times. Before, a Corvinus werewolf would remain in wolf form once bitten, never to return to their human form unless killed. Now, both infections are transferred through a bite, and Corvinus wolves can shift back and forth between their human form and a full wolf form at will. Corvinus vampires cannot go out in the sun, and die if they are mortally wounded by injuries or other means, like a stake. Corvinus werewolves cannot survive any wounds made from silver.” 

He went on to explain that the Corvinus-turned vampires and werewolves were rare, the only known currently known coven of them was in Romania. It was headed by a woman who was turned in the 14th century. She and her mate, a rare hybrid, were the leaders of the coven. They had a daughter and a son. The three of them made up the only known hybrids of the Corvinus strain. 

“If any of you wish to know more about the Corvinus strain of vampirism, lycanthropy, and the potential hybrids that can only occur under certain circumstances, I shall point you in the right direction book wise, but there is not much information that is available. An agreement was made long ago that they would stay out of wizarding affairs if the same courtesy was extended to them. In all, they are all the strains that affect muggles, and instead would have no impact on wizards.” 

Lupin looked out at the class, smiling a little to himself as he saw Hermione Granger furiously scribbling down every word that he said. Even Jaime looked unusually interested in the topic, hanging onto his every word.

“The Dracula Vampire, if we shall call them that, are the form of vampire turned from witches and wizards. They have the typical powers of a vampire, such as the immortality and inability to go into the sun, but once turned, they lose their magical core and any ability to cast spells. They are where the myth of being able to turn into a bat at will comes from."

"Studies have shown that their way of turning into a bat iis pretty common to the way that some animagi turn into their own animagus form. There has only been one confirmed instance of a wizard who was an animagus before they were turned into a vampire, and they were unable to change into any other animal but a bat afterwards.” 

He went on to explain that it was illegal to turn someone into a vampire against their will, and there were not many covens still within Europe. Their process of transformation was a closely guarded secret that no one knew, but it was not through a mere bite like the transmission of the Corvinus strain.

Wryly, Professor Lupin smiled and flicked his wand again, and the same hand-drawn rendering of a mid-transformation werewolf that Professor Snape had shown them last class was projected against the board. 

“Of course, you learned from Professor Snape about magical lycanthropes. They are beholden to the moon, and lose any sort of humanity once they are turned. They are witches and wizards who keep their magic when they are infected through a bite, but often they are dangerous when transformed because they have no control over their baser, animalistic instincts. In the past twenty years or so, there had been a potion to come out called the Wolfsbane potion. If taken every day in the week leading up to the full moon, the werewolf will retain their higher brain functions once they transform, thus making them pretty much safe. However, this potion is not widely available, is very difficult to brew, and many lycanthropes turned during the last Wizarding War do not have access to it.”

Jaime had bristled at that information; how stupid was it, to make the potion that helped werewolves almost impossible for them to get? Political bureaucrats really cannot complain about how dangerous they were and how they could not be trusted when they were the ones who made it so they could be nothing more.

Hermione, of course, had been fascinated by the information that vampires, werewolves, and hybrids even existed. And truthfully, it was something that had fascinated Jaime as well. So much so that they wanted more than just the information that they had been taught in class. 

So they had dove more into the research and gone to talk to Professor Lupin about it more.

During one of those meetings during a free period, Professor Lupin had poured them some tea and told them what he knew. He even touched upon the different kinds in America that he had learned about during some traveling years back, information that had never once made it into any books yet.

“America, as you two know, does not have a large population of wand-wielders, as we are sometimes called. Although there are some who have a talent for wandless magic.” 

Remus dropped some sugar cubes into his tea, stirred it briskly, and then turned his full attention back to his eager students. 

“There is a large population of witches that are Wiccan. They do not channel their magic from within, like us who have a magical core that sustains us, gives us a longer lifespan, heals us, and so on and so forth. They channel the magic from the land, and are very in tuned with their ancestors. Spells and talents are passed down from family members to family members.” 

Here, he took a large grimoire from behind him, passing it to Hermione to opened it eagerly, fingers gentle on the fragile paper. 

“I was given this grimoire as a gift from an older woman just over the border into Mexico. She had no children, no other family, and she did not want to burn the grimoire, so she gave it to me, since she was able to sense my magic even it was different than hers.” 

Jaime had taken the grimoire after Hermione, staring at the Latin and some smattering of Spanish, the hand written spells and the drawings of plants and other materials. 

“There are some vampires and werewolves within the United States, started by a witch in a Viking village back in the early twelfth century. The American vampires were created by magic. They had supernatural strength, healing, speed, and these talents grow stronger the longer they have been alive. They burn in the sun, but there are some who have a ring with a blue lapis lazuli stone that will allow them to walk in the sunlight without harm. Other than that, they look human, can eat human food and once they control their bloodlust, they can be around humans easily.” 

“They also have a talent called compulsion, much like the Imperius charm. However, consumption of an herb called vervain,” and here Professor Lupin reached into a small jar behind him and pulled out a sprig of a dried flower that was once purple, “prevents compulsion from being able to affect whoever consumes it. The herb also exposed vampires, as it burns their skin whenever they come into contact with it. They must be invited into homes, otherwise they cannot cross the threshold.” 

Hermione was taking notes on a small piece of parchment, her eyes wide with excitement. 

“Professor Lupin, how did you learn all of this?” 

“The witch I was friends with, she told me everything there was for me to know. She was concerned about me,” here their professor’s lips quirked fondly, “ a young, untrained wizard abroad potentially falling prey to a rogue vampire. Werewolves are also different in America.” 

He went on to explain to them about wolfsbane, about how they were forced to turn every month, but it was a curse that was only activated by killing someone. You could not turn a werewolf, you were either one or not because of a gene that was passed down in certain families, generation to generation. He even told them about the poisonous bite of a werewolf to a vampire, how they were mortal enemies across all kinds.

“You know girls, you two are probably the only witches in wizarding Britain that know this much about vampires and werewolves,” Professor Lupin complemented, much to Hermione's blushing delight. 

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_Mystic Falls, Present Day_

Luna quirked an eyebrow at Jaime. 

“What was that Jaime?” 

Jaime rolled her eyes at Luna’s attempt to play innocent. 

“Remus taught me about the vampires and werewolves in America. Hermione and I were fascinated by them third year, read every piece of literature we could and cross-referenced them as well. I know what Caroline Forbes is, Luna. The lapis lazuli ring, the magic that clings to her slightly because of it…you invited her in, obviously.” 

Luna shrugged, before simply saying, “If she has a daylight ring, she must have the trust of a Wiccan. And since Wiccans hate vampires on principle, Caroline must have proven herself trustworthy in some respect. She bought us food and wanted to welcome us to the town, for Merlin’s sake Jaime, and she is excited about high school. I do not think we have much to worry about from her.”

Jaime had to physically keep herself from yelling in frustration. 

“Fine! But I am changing the wards of the house. I don’t relish the thought of any other vampires being able to get into this house once they were only invited in once.” 

“Alright,” Luna agreed easily, before polishing off the cupcake in her hands. 

“I doubt there would be many other vampires in town,” the Ravenclaw mused aloud, “It seems silly, doesn’t it? The more in one area, the greater their chances of discovery.” 

Jaime had her wand out and was now changing the composition of the wards, trying hard to think through her racing thoughts back to all she had been taught about them. She added an extension on them, felt the magic thrum through her veins, before she turned back to Luna and wryly responded, “I highly doubt they would be stupid to congregate in one area, especially a small town. Hopefully Caroline, her Wiccan friend who made her ring, and maybe one other vampire is all we will have to deal with.” 

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Damon Salvatore groaned at the knocking on his front door. 

“Unless you are Stefan, in which case this is your house and you should not be knocking, leave,” he snarled. 

The door burst open and there was Caroline and Elena, both of them looking at him with slightly annoyed expressions. 

“Ah, hello Elena, Barbie,” Damon snarked, before turning and heading back into the main living room and pouring himself a large glass of burboun; the look on their faces meant that they wanted to talk about something, and he had a feeling that he would need the alcohol to take the edge off. 

“Seriously!? It’s only ten in the morning!”

“Barbie, if you are at my door at ten in the morning, then the situation definitely calls for a drink.” 

“Okay, enough,” Elena’s patented “disappointed” look was enough to make Damon throw the rest of the drink back in one go, ignoring the burn as it went down his throat. 

“Oh, of course, how could I ever forget my manners. How can I help you ladies?” 

Caroline rolled her eyes at Damon’s dramatics. 

“Did you know that two new people moved to town?” Elena questioned, the set of her mouth telling Damon that she was close to losing her patience with him already. 

Wow, new record for him them. 

“No, but I can tell from the paranoid note in your voice that you think they are a danger already.” 

“What, I am not - I think I have every reason to be paranoid about new people!” Elena exclaimed indignantly, hands on her hips. 

“Clearly though you are only paranoid when it suits you. When someone else tries to protect you, you just turn into this morally superior being who tells others to ‘trust’ and ‘have faith’ and then goes off and does whatever the hell she wants anyway,” Damon snapped back, making his voice a high falsetto when mocking her. 

Elena realed back like she had been slapped. Damon felt a momentary flash of guilt before he steeled himself and reminded himself that Elena always did exactly that; if it didn’t suit what she wanted, she ignored it. 

God, why had he decided to hang around teenage high schoolers again?

Oh right, because like the dumbass that he was, he had to go and fall in love with her. Fantastic. 

Face twisting in anger, Elena snapped back, “ _You_ were the one who forced me to take your blood before the ritual! You didn’t give a _damn_ about what I wanted, you forced it on me!”

Caroline stepped between the two of them, her hands half raised in a placating gesture. 

“Okay, calm down, both of you. We just wanted to let you know that they were here, and that they do not seem like a threat. Well, I met them and I don’t think they are a threat, but Elena is still concerned and she was going to ask you to keep an ear out, that’s it.” 

“Anything else then, my liege?” Damon snarked, still smarting over the raw wounds that Elena rubbed on him whenever she was there. 

Elena crossed her arms defensively, before she bit out, “No, not at all. We’ll just get out of your hair then,” before she turned on her heel and stormed out of the boarding house, slamming the door behind her.

Caroline remained for a few moments, eyebrow cocked as she stared at Damon. 

“What?” He asked, seemingly genuinely confused at her judgement. 

“Seriously? That is how you are going to play it now?” 

“What, it’s not like it’s all false.” 

Caroline pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“Damon…”

“What, Barbie, I am a little busy here if you can’t tell,” he waved he refilled glass through the air under her nose. 

Clearly deciding that it was not worth it - _that he was not worth it_ some bitter part of his brain whispered - Caroline simply shook her head one last time before turning and leaving, shutting the door normally behind her. 

It seemed to echo more throughout the house than when Elena slammed it. 

He threw back the bourbon and cherished the burn. 

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“Why are all the breakfast cereals here so sugary?” Jaime asked, a box of Captain Crunch in one hand and a box of Fruit Loops in the other. She could feel her teeth aching just looking at them. 

Luna looked up from where she had one hand already buried in a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. 

“This is wonderful, I don’t know why you sound so upset about it,” Luna replied around a mouth full of said surgery cereal. 

Jaime rolled her eyes and just dumped the Fruit Loops into the cart, putting the Captain Crunch back on the shelves. She didn’t even know if she would like the Fruit Loops, but she was just going to go with them since the “fruit” sounded less alarming to her than the florescent orange squares of Captain Crunch. 

The two girls had been extremely jet lagged from the time difference, and dragging themselves out of bed was all but impossible. 

But the two of them had devoured all of the macaroni and cheese that Caroline had given them the night before, and there honestly had nothing but water in the house. 

So, they had hauled themselves out of bed and to the grocery store. 

Jaime had gotten her license specifically for living in Mystic Falls, and it took way more concentration than she thought it should for her to not drift to the other side of the road; driving on the right side just feeling wrong. 

She had Sirius’s motorbike, and she had bought it with her to Mystic Falls with her; she couldn’t wait to ride it. 

The shopping trolley was already full of the basics; milk, cheese, eggs, bread, some bacon, baked beans, sausages, tomatoes, because Jaime was going to make herself a full English breakfast as soon as they got home. 

Luna grabbed some more food stuffs as they went up and down the aisles, pasta and pasta sauce and the like. By the time they got to the ice cream aisle, Jaime could feel herself getting more and more cranky. All she wanted to do was go back home, eat a giant breakfast, and then go back to sleep for much longer. 

In all, it was probably not the time for Jaime to be meeting anyone. 

They were finally done, and were just heading to the front of the store to pay when someone slammed into her full speed, sending her stumbling into the aisle. 

It was a tall man in a black leather jacket. Black hair, ice blue eyes, and an angry set to his mouth. 

His eyes snapped down to hers and he smirked at her, “Might want to watch where you are going, pipsqueak, I didn’t see you there.”

Angry, tired, she snapped back before she could think better of it, “Oh, bugger off.” 

The man’s eyebrows went up, and his face twisted in anger. 

“Excuse me?” 

He loomed over her, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath the closer he got to her. She stiffened, refusing to back down from him. She had faced down literal monsters and mass murderers without flinching; one drunk man was not going to make her nervous. 

She still tensed, flexing her arm slightly just to feel the ridge of her wand in the holster on her forearm.

She kept silent, looking him up and down before her eyes noticed something on his hand. 

He had a large silver ring set with a blue stone on his right hand. 

A lapis lazuli ring. 

She could feel the magic from the ring coming off of him now that she was paying attention; he was another vampire. 

Her eyes snapped up to meet his, and she could see confusion cross his features. Rapidly schooling her expression into something more composed, and bit out, “Maybe lay off the alcohol, asshole, and you will be able to see where you are walking.” 

Before he could respond, she turned and walked quickly down the aisle, turning and spotting Luna up by a check out counter. 

Feeling the vampire’s heavy gaze on her back, she kept her back straight and proud as she hurried to Luna’s side. 

_For Merlin’s sake,_ she fumed to herself, _why can things never be bloody easy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, unpopular opinion here, but I personally am not the biggest fan of Elena for many reasons that you will see as this story progresses. Yet, that also makes her a character I kinda like because I like that she is flawed and real. I am going to try my hardest to keep these characters true to who they are, but I apologize if some of my own personal feelings come through.
> 
> Also, yes, I snuck some Underworld in here because I love that franchise and I am a giant nerd. I tried to explain the distinctions in vampire and werewolves across the world, but let me know if some of it was confusing or not. 
> 
> I am going to try and stick to an uploading schedule of once a week on Wednesdays, just cause I personally like writing longer chapters and spreading out updates than to do a bunch of small updates throughout the week. It also helps me to make sure that I proofread, close up any plot holes, and general make sure that this is following the plan I want for the story.
> 
> Please leave me a comment, kudos, and subscribe!


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Face Claim:**   
>  [CHARLOTTE](http://bit.ly/2HSl3ic)

Elijah paused in the doorway, surprise flickering across his normally stern features. 

Rebekah and Klaus were sitting in the library. 

Peacefully. Together. With no death threats, glares, or objects being thrown at each other. 

Rebekah was sitting by the window, the sun behind her making her blond hair look like a halo. She was on her phone, legs crossed underneath her, concentrating on whatever she was reading. 

Klaus was sitting across from her with his feet on the coffee table in front of him, sketchbook propped up against his knees. There were maybe ten different pencils on the cushion next to him, smears of charcoal on the tips of his fingers. His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he periodically flicked his eyes up to look at Rebekah and then back to his sketchpad.

From his angle behind Klaus, Elijah could see that he was drawing Rebekah in stunning clarity; he somehow managed to capture how relaxed she was, somehow managed to infuse the feeling of brotherly protectiveness into every stroke and shade. 

It was a stunning drawing; Elijah wondered if Klaus would ever show Rebekah, or if that was form of vulnerability that he was too proud or too scared to show. 

In the following weeks after their mother had unveiled her plot to kill them and tried to use Alaric Saltzman as a weapon, the siblings had been getting along in an unprecedented occurrence. 

Elijah had been the one to kill his mother. As the eldest in the family with Finn gone, it was _his_ responsibility to look after his family. _His_ responsibility to make the tough decisions, to do the dirty work, to protect his brothers and sister. It was _his_ burden to carry, and he would carry it gladly so his siblings would not have to. 

He did not know if Klaus would endure having killed their mother a second time. 

So, when Alaric had broken through the spell Ester had put on him, Elijah had made his move. With Alaric holding his mother still, he had kept an impassive look on his face and plunged his hand into his mother’s chest and ripped out her heart, not a single apology crossing his lips when she looked at him in shock and betrayal and crumpled at his feet.

He had taken his mother’s body and burned it, watching throughout the night and ignoring the smell of burning flesh until she was nothing more than ash. And then he had gone home to his siblings, looked each of them in the eyes, and told them that their mother was dead.

The aftermath was much like the aftermath of an earthquake. Thankful that the shaking and destruction had stopped, but then there was the hesitance; each step measured and careful as if the ground was going to start crumbling, if buildings would collapse with the slightest shift in weight. The fear of aftershocks, of being caught unprepared again.

Kol was in and out of the house at all times, but when he was actually there, he was watching a movie and loudly complaining with Rebekah, listening to music that Klaus recommended at full blast, or pestering Elijah into doing something interesting with him. 

Sometimes, in the moments when Kol was not running from one thing to another, Elijah could see something fracture within his youngest brother. He saw Kol’s shoulders slump, saw his eyes become distant and sad. Kol would flex his fingers constantly, a tell that he had had when they were all human and his magic had just come in. He knew that Kol mourned, struggled with control, maybe more so than all of them. Elijah did not know if Kol did not share his emotions with them because he felt it made him weak, or because he was afraid they would exploit his feelings; either way, his heart ached at that lack of trust.

Rebekah was still angry, bitter, furious at Klaus for stealing her away from what could have been a "happily every after” with Stefan Salvatore in the twenties. She was angry at everything that had happened within her family, but she was also furious at Elena Gilbert for her part in almost killing all of them. She was relieved her mother was gone, guilty for being relieved, and hurt beyond all comprehension at the thought that her own mother saw her as an abomination that needed to be put down. 

But there were moments, when Rebekah was not on guard, where he could see the smiling, happy little sister she had once been for them. When she was sparing verbally with Kol or Klaus, or when she was just sitting silently with him while he read, Elijah was reminded vividly of a time when they were all close, before betrayals and anger got between them and broke them apart.

Klaus was…quiet. He had never apologized, not that Elijah expected him to do so, but there was one comment that Klaus made that had all but forced Elijah reevaluate everything he thought he knew. 

Rebekah had been yelling at Klaus one night, fury making her beautiful face contort into something dangerous. Elijah did not know how the fight started, but it was a fight that had been building for a while. 

Rebekah had hurled blame at Klaus for breaking their family apart, for keeping them all in coffins, when Klaus finally snapped back, “Yes, Bekah, I did keep you daggered for almost a century, Kol for five and our suicidal Finn for almost nine, but at least you were daggered and _safe_ in my hands than staked and _dead_ at Mikael’s!” 

The silence had rung throughout the house after those words, and Rebakah had blinked owlishly at her brother, surprise clear in her expression. Klaus had frozen like a deer in headlights, then bolted out of the house at full vampire speed. He did not return home until four days later without a word of where he had been. 

In the time after that, although Elijah could tell his little sister was still furious, she seemed to have come to the same conclusion that he had. 

Finn had always hated what they were; he would have thrown himself at the feet of Mikael and begged for their father to kill him if they had not stopped him. Meeting and falling in love with Sage had kept him around for a few decades, but the self-loathing had come back with a vengeance. Nine centuries might have been spent in a coffin away from them, away from Sage, but it had been nine centuries where he had been safe from Mikael and from himself. 

Kol had flipped the switch on his humanity, had been rampaging through the countryside and slaughtering hordes of innocent humans. Elijah knew that Kol had never gotten over the loss of his fledgling powers; the disconnect from the magic he had inherited from their mother was devastating to his younger brother. But when he went on his rampages, it drew way too much attention. It was like Kol was sending up a smoke signal, all but alerting Mikael to their exact location. Kol would have gotten in over his head, and his father would have killed him without hesitation if he had caught him. Mikael probably would have felt justified in it too, more so than normally, because of what Kol had been doing.

Rebekah had been daggered in the moments following a raid that had been led by Mikael; their father had been closer to them then ever before in the twenties, and it was no secret that everyone in their family feared for their only sister a bit more than anyone else. Rebekah and Klaus had always been close, and Klaus had always wanted to look out for her and protect her more than he wanted to protect his brothers. Rebekah had such a big heart, she believed so much in love and in happiness and wanted that happily ever after more than anything, and all it did was get her hurt. It made sense that Klaus feared for her life in those moments after the speakeasy raid, and daggered her to keep her away from their father.

As a hybrid, Klaus was the only one who would have been able to survive his father coming at them with a white oak stake. Ironic, that the child that Mikael hated the most was the one that he could not easily kill. And if Klaus was the only one who knew the location of their family and was the only one who could get to them, they were the safest that they could ever be. 

If he lied to Elijah and told his brother that their siblings were dead…then that knowledge would have spread. Mikael would have known, and he would have thought it was true because Elijah was not with Klaus. Their father would have believed that they were all gone, and maybe he would have eased off on hunting them.

Rebekah and Kol had come to the same conclusion that Elijah had - that although the betrayals before were not to be forgotten so quickly, at the base of it, Klaus had done what he had done to protect them in his own way - and although the anger was still there, they were no longer throwing into his face how they would leave or how they would kill him for what he had done. 

They were all on uneasy footing, the four of them living together day in and day out in a way that they had not done for centuries. There was healing going on around them, he could tell. Although permanently scarred from the past they may be, they were making steps to become the family that they had once been before: united, firm, fiercely protective…but above all, actually staying together firmly on each other’s side. 

Elijah had to hide the secret little flame of hope in his heart that this would finally be enough for Klaus. 

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Caroline had been happily re-organizing her bedroom when Damon burst into the room, threw himself on her bed with his hands clasped behind his head, an obnoxious smile on his face. 

Pausing mid-fold, she sighed and let her arms drop to her sides, the shirt wrinkling a bit in her grip. 

“Damon, what do you want?”

“Calm down there, Barbie, I just wanted to talk.” 

Caroline glared at him. 

“If the next words out of your mouth have to do with Elena, please immediately leave before I strangle you with my clothes.”

“Kinky, Barbie. I didn’t know you were into breath play,” Damon teased. 

Annoyed, she let the sharp words flow out of her mouth, “After the first time, you never asked me what I wanted, you were too busy threatening me with death, insulting me, feeding on me, and compelling me.” 

Damon froze, his expression surprised and then she saw what she thought was a flash of regret before his face went stone cold again, his blue eyes like two pieces of ice in his face. 

“Caroline,” he started, and hearing him say her name instead of “Barbie” or “Blondie” made her tense. This was a conversation that was a long time coming, but not a conversation that she wanted to have with him right now. 

Yes, the first - and only time - she had slept with him had all been consensual. But as soon as he revealed himself to her as a vampire, the entire game changed. From that moment on, she had been nothing more than a tool.

Compelled to date him, compelled to not be afraid and to keep silent, compelled to be a human blood bag, and always afraid that he was going to kill her…it had left its mark. She had been told over and over that that as soon as she failed to be useful to him in his plot to get closer to Elena she would have outlived her usefulness...and then to have Elena completely forget about it, to be left alone to deal with those memories, it was more than she could handle right at this moment. 

She hated him for what he had done to her, for using her and treating her like shit. She hated that it was in pursuit of her best friend, the one that she always came second place to. And yet, she hated that she could see from his point of view. At that point, he had seen humans as nothing more than a food source and or useful pawns, and he had used her in that way. And she could tell that now he was genuinely changing, some humanity leaking back into his soul after years of living in the darkness. 

Still, Caroline did not want to hear any justification or half-hearted apologies from Damon. She might have let go of the anger for her own sanity and happiness - because holding a grudge is hard for her, even though she was stubborn - but she would never forget how he treated her, even if he did change and become a part of their friend group, even if the two of them had a fledgling friendship themselves. 

Sure, he might regret what he had done to hurt her, but Caroline knew Damon would never be sorry for it, would never be sorry for anything he did for Elena. To win her affection or attention, or in his pursuit of what she wanted as well. He would never apologize for who he hurt in his pursuit of her - except, maybe Stefan, because she knew Damon really did love his little brother. And if Damon pretended he was sorrier than he was, it would just be like a slap in the face.

“Spare me a half-baked apology, we both know that you would not mean it,” Caroline blithely responded, before turning away from him and folding the shirt in her hands, her movements controlled and stiff. 

Damon was silent; she couldn’t see him with her back turned, but she could hear his breathing hitch a bit like he was opening and closing his mouth, trying to find the words. 

“Now, what the hell do you want?” Caroline asked, before leaning down and grabbing more clean clothes out of the hamper at her feet, folding them and making neat piles atop her dresser. 

“You said that you met the two British girls that moved here, didn’t you?” 

She was surprised by the start of the conversation. She had honestly expected - despite her warning and subsequent barbed words - the next sentence out of his mouth to do with Elena. How to apologize to her, or to complain about the awkward situation that he, Elena and his brother were now in. 

When she had become his therapist?

Caroline was so tired about the love triangle that was going on between them. She was tired about hearing about it from Elena and Damon, and still did not understand why Damon came to talk to her about it, knowing that she was Elena’s best friend and the fact that they had their own complicated history. 

Well, it was not complicated. He had been - still was, if slightly less so now - an asshole to her, if not an asshole friend, and he was very lucky she had not ripped his heart out when she had woken up a vampire. 

“Yes, I have,” she answered. 

She turned around to walk by the bed to her closet, and she saw Damon staring at her expectantly, eyebrow raised. 

“…and?” He prompted, annoyed, as she opened up her closet door and started hanging up her clothes. 

“‘And' what? You didn’t ask me a question.” 

He vampire speeded over to her, kicking away her laundry basket and shutting her closet door, standing in front of her angrily. She bristled at how he loomed over her, and she raised a hand to point a perfectly manicured finger in his face. 

“Weigh your next actions carefully, Salvatore.” 

“This is not me being difficult, Blondie, I am being serious here. Did you notice anything weird about them? The black haired one specifically?” 

His face was serious, a far cry from the normally sardonic expression Damon wore. She took a few steps back and planted her hands on her hips. 

Damon had to restrain himself from laughing; she had never looked more like an angry kindergarten teacher than in this moment. 

“No, not at all. Her name is Jaime, by the way. Why are you asking?” 

“I ran into them this morning when I was at the grocery store. She seemed like a combative little thing, but that’s not-“

“Uh huh,” Caroline interrupted, before asking sarcastically, “And I am sure you were a ray of sunshine, probably still drunk from all the bourbon that you drank yesterday, and probably an asshole to her?”

He gave her such a deadpanned bitch look she had to bit down on her cheek to keep herself from laughing at it. 

“Blondie, the point is not that she was combative, the point is that she gave me a weird and suspicious look when she looked me up and down, and I am almost 90 percent sure that it was because she saw my daylight ring.”

“Almost 90 percent sure? Why not one hundred?” 

Damon was looking more and more annoyed now. 

“Because about ten percent of it could have been because I was wearing tight pants and she was looking at my junk, what do you think?!”

“Please, don’t flatter yourself, you’re not packing a weapon there. You’re pretty average, I seen and slept with bigger.” 

“Caroline, the point!”

Sighing, the blond let her arms drop to her side. 

“You think she got suspicious because of your daylight ring? That’s a long shot, Damon.” 

“She all but booked it away afterwards, and her entire demeanor changed. Look, Blondie, what if she is a witch? Or a werewolf? She can’t be a vampire, she was not wearing any daylight ring.” 

“Wouldn’t you be able to smell if she were a werewolf?”

“Not necessarily, it depends on how long they have been werewolves and if their scent has settled,” Damon explained, crossing his arm and leaning back on his heels. 

“I honestly don’t think they are supernatural, but if you are really concerned about them being potentially magic, we can ask Bonnie if there is a way to pick up something through her end of it. Is that all?” 

Damon was silent for a second, and she jumped on the silence to cheerily go, “Good, now get out of my house.” 

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“How many vampires do you think are in this town?” Luna asked as Jaime drove them back to the house. 

Jaime’s eyes did not move from the road. 

“I don’t know, Remus told me that unless they are a couple or a family, it is rare for vampires to travel in large groups. I know we have only met her once, but I find it hard to believe that Caroline is related to and/or in love with that asshole.” 

The girls were silent for a few moments before Luna asked in a small voice, “Do you think we are in danger? Do you think that we should leave?”

Jaime’s response was immediate; her mind had been racing the entire time they had been buying the food and loading it into the car. She had already thought through and thrown away probably fifteen half-baked plans before coming back to just one. 

“No, that would look more suspicious. And I know we do not have to worry about the money, but I really like our house right now. I am going to revamp the wards - again - but I think as long as we do not tip our hands and show our knowledge, we should be fine.” 

Here, Jaime tried to make her voice light and more optimist for her younger friend. 

“Besides, I know we said this last time, but really, how many vampires can realistically be in this small town without anyone getting suspicious?”

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Elijah walked into the small second-hand bookstore, casually strolling through the aisles. 

It was a recent find, something that he had never expected to see in Mystic Falls. He had resigned himself to having to drive thirty minutes away to the nearest large town in order to find some more books, but then he found the little second-hand store about five minutes down the road from the Grill. 

It was run by a little old lady, Susan, who has lived in Mystic Falls for her entire life. She had gone off to explore for a bit when she was young, met her husband, came back, raised a family and opened up the second hand bookstore. 

Her children and grandchildren were all over the world, and had sent her boxes and boxes of books throughout the years. So, Elijah was always thrilled to see the foreign language books, travel guides, and other little interesting works that one would normally not find in a commercial book shop. 

Susan had never said anything otherwise, but Elijah had a feeling that she knew who and what he was, but did not say anything to confirm that. 

Normally, there was only Susan in the shop up by the cash register - honestly, if she did not own the building and get most of the books through donations, he found it hard to believe that Susan would make enough of a profit to keep the shop going - but today, there were two girls he had never seen before in the back of the shop. 

Curiosity piqued, he lingered by the end of an aisle that seemed to be filled with historical nonfiction works, he listened in to the conversation that the two girls were having. 

“Luna, look!” The black-haired girl called out to the platinum blond, and Elijah was surprised to hear the British accent. She pulled a book out of the pile of others, this one looking old and bound old-fashionedly. 

“Hermione would throw a fit if she were here, I cannot believe they have this specific copy of _The Iliad,”_ she continued. 

The blond haired girl, Luna, already had a stack of miscellaneous books under her arm. 

“Jaime, you know that we are going to be here for a while, you do not have to get them all at once,” she said with amusement.

Elijah could not see the look that Jaime shot Luna, but he assumed it was a funny one as Luna laughed, the sound like bells.

“I thought that I would never see another copy like this. I used to have one that I bought from a yard sale when I was younger, but when my cousin caught me reading it, he…well, that copy has been long gone, but I loved the story a lot,” Jaime continued. 

Elijah frowned slightly, but he turned away before his expression was seen by the two girls. 

He had never seen them before in Mystic Falls, and he had surely never seen them in Susan’s bookstore. And from the conversation that they had had - the comment about staying for a while - made him think that they had just gotten here. 

“This is enough for now,” Jaime finally said, tucking the copy of _The Iliad_ underneath her arm along with a few others. 

Elijah quickly grabbed a World War II non-fiction novel off of the shelves, flipping through it while balancing the spine on his left hand; he was half-reading the words and half-keeping an ear out, trying to look like he was absorbed in his own search for books. 

He must have been playing absorbed well, because he felt someone bump into him and heard books fall to the ground, a soft, accented voice going, “Oh, I am so sorry!” 

He turned and found himself looking down at the smaller girl, Luna, kneeling down on the ground to grab some of the precariously stacked books that had toppled out of her hands when she had run into him.

Without thinking about it, he knelt down next to her and helped her grab some. He was amused by the wide collection of titles - from _The Adventures of Desperaux, Matilda, to Origins: Fourteen Billions Years of Cosmic Evolution._

Luna looked up at him, and he found himself struck by her eyes; they were a bright silvery gray, almost like mercury. There was a thin scar that cut across her face, a whitish-pink now that it was long healed. She cocked her head to the side when she met his gaze; she had a dreamy expression on her face, but her eyes were sharp.

“It is alright, these aisles are a bit narrow,” Elijah replied, before standing up swiftly and offering his hand to the girl. 

She took it lightly, pulling herself up. 

Jaime smiled cheekily at the tall vampire in front of her, joking, “Oh, who would have thought we would find another one of us all the way across the pond!” 

Elijah let a genuine smile quirk his lips. 

“Indeed, I am surprised. Where are you two girls from? London, I would guess?” 

“Good ear,” Jaime complimented, before cocking her head to look at him in contemplation, “I cannot place your accent though…”

“I grew up moving around village to village near the outskirts of York,” Elijah stuck as close to the truth as he could. Their family _had_ originally started in Jorvik, modern-day York, back when the vikings still roamed the seas. He did move from village to village when he was young; it was just more than a thousand years ago. 

“York used to be known as ‘Jorvik,’ one of the historical strongholds of the vikings. Did you know that the modern word ‘berserk’ comes from ’berserkers,’ Viking warriors who would wear bear or wolf skin and howl in battle to unnerve their enemies?” 

Elijah blinked at Luna, who had spoken the fact offhandedly, not even looking at him or Jaime while she rearranged the books in her arms to an order she only knew. 

Jaime smiled fondly at her friend. 

“That is interesting Luna,” Jaime complimented, before she met Elijah’s gaze and shrugged. 

“Indeed, it it interesting. What are you two ladies doing in Mystic Falls, of all places?”

“Just needed a change of scenery, threw a dart at a map and this is where we landed. How about you?” Jaime looked genuinely curious, so he again stuck as close to the truth as he could. 

“Our family moved here for a short time when I was younger, and my siblings and I decided to come back after a few years away.”

Jaime nodded to herself before she looked down at her watch and then turned to Luna. 

“Luna, it’s almost two, we have to be back at the house at two thirty to meet the solicitor to finalize the paperwork,” Jaime turned back to Elijah and smiled, but as warm as the smile was, he could tell that there was something behind her eyes, and emotion he could not read. 

“It was nice to meet you,” she paused, realizing that she did not know his name. 

“Elijah Mikaleson,” he introduced, nodding down to the books in their hands, “I would shake your hand, but we should not have another mishap.” 

“Well, I’m Jaime Potter, this is Luna Lovegood. We are sorry once again for running into you, but we really must be off,” Jaime apologized, before she turned and made her way up to the front counter. 

Luna was still there, staring at him with a curious expression. He found himself feeling a little bit uncomfortable under her gaze; the last time he had been looked at with that kind of curious intensity, it had been his mother staring him down over a glass of cursed champagne. 

“Have a lovely day, Mr. Mikaelson,” she said in her whimsical voice, “and don’t let whatever is troubling you keep its weight on your shoulders. Stress lines do not become anyone,” she advised before turning and following her friend, swaying slightly from side to side as if she were dancing to a tune that no one else could hear. 

Elijah could only watch them walk away, curiosity piqued. 

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Klaus did not look at the caller ID on his phone when it rang. He had been busy sketching, filling in and shading the portrait of Rebekah that he had started the previous day. He had broken out some white shading pencils, adding highlights to the tiny hairs that framed her face, the little specks of light that reflected in her eyes. 

“Who is this and what do you want?” He asked in a bland tone, disinterest clear in his inflection. 

There was silence on the other end of the line and then a familiar voice went dryly, “If you looked at your damn caller ID, then you would know who it was, brother.” 

At the familiar tone, Klaus rolled his eyes. 

“Kol, what do you want?” 

“I got a call from a witch friend of mine, Charlotte. She heard something through the grape vine that concerned her, and she reached out to me. I am going to take the next flight to see her, since she does not want to talk about it over the phone. I am letting you know just in case she tries to kill me so you know where I am if you have to make a daring rescue.” 

Kol sounded way too excited and blasé about a potential attempt on his life, but Klaus had enough faith in his little brother to take care of himself against witches.

“Where is this witch located in case I need to drag your ass out of trouble?” 

“My perfectly formed ass will be in New Orleans,” Kol answered. 

Klaus tampered down the flash of memories - the wide smile and dark skin of the boy who was essentially his son, the easy days in the sun, Rebekah and Elijah and Kol all looking splendid in beautiful clothes, the opera, the fire that drove them away - with practiced ease. 

“Be careful, brother,” Klaus repeated, “I would so hate to have to tell Rebekah that she is now the youngest child in the family.”

“Oh, fuck off, Nik,” Kol’s voice was light and amused, in contrast to his harsh words, and Klaus found himself chuckling before he hung up the phone. 

At the Richmond International Airport, Kol chuckled as well, putting his phone into his pocket and heading to board the flight. 

What he said was true; Charlotte was a witch friend of his, but she had been turned into a vampire by him back when they were last in New Orleans. She had stayed in the city even though she was shunned by her coven. 

Once he had awoken in this new century, he had hunted down all of his old contacts that he still had, made sure that he still had a network of informants to talk to and that they all had a way of contacting him. 

Charlotte was uneasy, he could tell from her voice; she had told him that New Orleans was not safe anymore, and that the supernatural community was at war. The remaining werewolves were clamoring for their land back, and witches were not allowed to use unauthorized magic under threat of death. 

So, he was going to go get the information she had for him, see what was going down in New Orleans, and then come back home before Klaus and Rebekah stopped this somewhat unsettling peace. 

He wanted to enjoy it for as long as it lasted. 

.  
.  
.  
.

In a crypt far from Virginia, Katherine Pierce stood in the entryway and tried to summon up some of the courage that has sustained her for five centuries. Jane-Anne Deveraux stood next to her, and she could tell that the witch was terrified. 

“Do you really think that this is a good idea?” Katherine asked blithely, hiding her unease. 

Jane-Anne sucked in a deep breath and walked into the crypt without a word. 

“Yes. Marcel will not allow magic, and we need to complete the Harvest festival. He is hiding the last Harvest Girl somewhere and using her to track us when we do magic. We need her to resurrect the others,” Jane-Anne sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Katherine. 

Jane-Anne turned to the vampire and asked, “Mikael is immediately going to go for Klaus, and once he kills Klaus, his entire sire-line, including Marcel and all the Night Walkers that Marcel has turned, will die.” 

Personally, Katherine thought this was a ridiculously convoluted way to kill Marcel, but she was tired of running. If Mikael went after Klaus immediately, then she would finally be able to have a life without being afraid that he was going to find her. 

“Well then…let’s awaken the beast.” 

.  
.  
.  
.

Kol strolled into the small house on the very far edges of New Orleans. Charlotte had texted him the address, and he could feel some anxiety rising in his chest at the secrecy. 

Charlotte was pacing back and forth in the front room when he walked in without knocking. 

She whirled around, and he barely got out an, “Hello, love, what is so urgent?” before Charlotte grabbed his hand and hauled him up the stairs to the second floor. 

She opened the door and hurried in, and when he made a move to follow her, he was stopped at the doorway. 

A young girl stood there, and Kol could tell that she had been compelled. 

“Let him in,” Charlotte ordered. 

The girl let out a monotone, “You can come in,” and Charlotte grabbed him and bodily pulled him in. 

“You can leave. You will go to bed in the morning and wake up not remembering anything that transpired the day before, you will assume you got drunk and had a great night out.” 

The girl nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind her. It was an old room, set up like a library with an old fireplace in the far corner. There were some armchairs near them, surrounding a coffee table, and that is where Charlotte was pacing.

“Sorry about that, this is a house that technically has two different foundations. I am a signatory for the new house, so now any vampire can essentially walk in the front door without being invited, but you need to be invited in for the parts of the room that are still above the original foundation. It is a safer place to talk.” 

“Charlotte, what the hell is going on?” 

Charlotte chewed on her bottom lip, and Kol was struck at how worried she looked. 

He and Charlotte had been lovers in the past, and she had been slated for some kind of traditional ritual the elders in the city did every few when she had come to him and demanded that he change her. He had not asked questions; he had been able to tell from the look on her face that she was not messing around. 

He had been daggered - _again,_ thanks Nik - a few weeks later, having barely enough time to train her in the ways of being a vampire. 

“Love, what is going on?” 

“You and your siblings need to go into hiding, immediately,” Charlotte shot out, wringing her hands nervously. 

Kol reached out and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her just on the other side of rough. 

“Charlotte! Explain!” 

Charlotte sucked in a deep, ragged breath. 

“Do you remember when I asked you to Turn me?”

“Yes, you were escaping some ritual, and then I was daggered for the next two centuries.” 

“The ritual that I had been chosen for is called the Harvest Festival. Every two centuries, the Elders select four witches, each representing an element of the earth. I was told that we would be put into a spelled-sleep, a peaceful one, for a year until we would be reborn at the Reaping. We were told all we had to do was give a little blood from our palms. It was supposed to be a huge honor, these four witches chosen to help strengthen the connection to our ancestors, you know, like you sow and you reap what you plant.” 

Kol nodded, struggling to keep up with her fast-paced speaking. Even as a human, she had had the tendency to speak a lot and speak quickly, and even with his vampire reflexes he had to focus to understand her. 

“Well, I was ready to do it, but then my mother came to me and told me that I needed to run, because the ritual was not as benign as that. The girls are killed for the ritual, their throats slit in front of the entire coven. And my mother was afraid, because she had overheard some Elders talking about how sometimes witches were not bought back by the ancestors, and sometimes they were. She was afraid that because I had been with you,” and here, Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears, “they would not bring me back as a punishment.” 

Kol sucked in a breath through his teeth, shock making him freeze. 

“So, once you turned me, I was shunned by the Coven, cast out. When you were gone, I left completely. I would come back once in a while to see my sister and my family’s descendants. One of my great-however-many-times-great-nieces is a witch here, Davina, and although she does not know me, I still want to protect her. She was chosen as a Harvest witch this year, but she was saved by the King, by Marcel.” 

Here, Kol stumbled back in shock. 

“Marcel? You don’t mean Marcellus? The little boy that was in our family? He’s alive?” 

Charlotte nodded, tears still spilling down her face. 

“Yes…he came into power after the huge New Orleans Fire at the opera house, he has been in power ever since. He has been regulating the witches, making sure they cannot practice magic, he has his Night Walkers out making sure they don't, all the werewolves have been cast out of New Orleans…Kol, it’s been a battleground here for the past few decades.” 

“Is that why you called me here? To tell me all this?” 

“No…there’s more.” 

Kol collapsed heavily into one of the armchairs and just watched her pace. 

He could only imagine what else she had to tell him. 

“Marcel stopped the Harvest when he found out that it dealt with the sacrifice of children. My great-niece, Davina, she’s safe now. But she holds the powers of all the girls killed before her, and all the Elders are dead by Marcel’s hand. Those remaining need to complete the ritual in order to keep their connection to the Ancestral magic, and they are getting desperate.” 

“So what is going to happen? If the Davina girl is taken away from New Orleans, doesn’t she lose her powers?”

“No, she loses her connection to Ancestral magic, not her ability to channel magic from the earth. But she is so full of the power of the other three girls right now, she is the most powerful witch in the world. But the power is going to destroy her if she cannot control it. There is a way for us to release the power out of her, but we need a witch to do so and Davina is public enemy number one right now.” 

"Why not just approach Marcel with this plan, if he cares for her, he would allow you to smuggle her out of the city.” 

“Because there is no way that I would ever get out of the city with her, the witches would come at me en masse, and then they would murder Davina and cause a whole host of other problems with the ritual!”

“So you called me here to save your great-niece?”

“No! Well, yes, I want you to save her, but there is more because since Marcel is stopping the witches form completing the Harvest Festival and he is protecting Davina, Jane-Anne, the mother of one of the other Harvest Girls who was sacrificed has teamed up with Katherine Pierce to awaken your father and set him on your family, hoping that he’ll kill Klaus and thus by the sire line, kill Marcel and all his Night Walkers so that they can get Davina back and complete the ritual without repercussions.” 

Kol had enough mental capacity to be mildly amazed that Charlotte got that all out in one breath, before everything she said registered in his mind and he shot to his feet. 

Mikael. They were going to awaken _Mikael._

He grabbed his phone out of his back pocket and blindly hit speed dial. It rang three times - each ring feeling like years as he panicked more and more - before Elijah’s voice rang out, “Hello Kol, how is New Orleans treating-“

“Elijah, are you with the others?!” 

At the frantic sound of his brother’s voice, Elijah’s tone got more serious. 

“I am in the house right now, Niklaus and Rebekah are here. What is wrong?”

Kol could hear Rebekah’s voice in the background, could hear Klaus’ rumbling tone, and he hated that he was going to have to tell them this. 

“Charlotte just warned me that some of the witches in New Orleans have teamed with Katerina Petrova to awaken our father.” 

Silence. 

Klaus’s voice was roaring over the other side of the line, he could not hear Rebekah, but all he heard was Elijah’s voice, frantic and concerned to a level that he had never heard before, “Get out of there _now!_ Get home _now!”_

“Elijah, there is so much more to the story, I can’t leave just yet-"

“You get home _right now,”_ Elijah ordered, “and we will go back with you, but do _not_ stay there alone. Get on a plane right now, Kol, or god help me-“

“Alright, fine, I’m coming home and I’m bringing Charlotte with me. And Elijah? Brace Klaus…some of this news is going to make him go on a rampage.” 

Kol hung up the phone and turned to Charlotte, who was still pale and looking at him in concern.

“We are leaving. Now.” 

.  
.  
.  
.

Katherine watched with a shrewd eye as Jane-Anne took a blood bag out of her bag, swallowed down her hunger as the witch turned it upside down and let the blood drop atop his desiccated lips. 

Slowly, his skin turned from silver gray to a more human skin tone, his breathing rasping in his throat and shaking the chains that bound him. 

“Get it away,” he rasped. 

Jane-Anne looked confused, but she pulled the blood bag away.

“You are Mikael. The vampire vampire-hunter. The father of the Original Family.” 

Jane-Anne listed off all of those like a fact, not like a question. 

“Yes, I am. I apologize for my outburst,” he demurred in his accented voice, as if he were standing in a three-piece suit instead of chained in the bottom of a dusty, dirty crypt, “It would have made more sense if you knew, but I do not feed on human blood. I have always avoided becoming more of a monster than I already am.” 

Jane-Anne looked mildly amused at this, disbelief in her expression. 

“Why did you wake me up?” He questioned. 

“We were informed that you knew how to kill Klaus,” Jane-Anne answered. 

Katherine found herself doubtful. How would he be strong enough to do so if he did not feed on human blood?

“Something makes me think we have been seriously misinformed,” she muttered bitterly under her breath, all thoughts of freedom slowly turning bitter in her mind.

“Can you get these chains off of me?” Mikael asked mildly, “I can assure you I cannot kill Klaus from underneath them.”

Jane-Anne leaned forward, a frantic look in her eyes. 

“Does that mean that you can kill him?”

“I can kill Klaus. And I will.” 

Katherine did not hesitate when she heard the note of steel in his voice; she reached into the crypt and ripped the chains. 

Mikael groaned in relief, stretching his arms and gripping the sides to haul himself stiffly up and out of the coffin. Jane-Anne skittered back, nervous, but a hopeful look across her face now. 

“You need some blood. What do you even eat? If you are going to kill Klaus, which is what we need you to do, then you need to be in top strength.” 

“I feed on the undead.” 

Katherine had only a second for his words to sink in before she felt his hands on her shoulders, his teeth buried deeply and viciously in her neck. 

Jane-Anne’s startled scream was the last thing Katherine heard before her eyes rolled up in her head and everything went dark. 

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_New Orleans_

Davina Claire shot straight up in bed, horror flooding her system. Her heart pounded, adrenaline making her feel sick to her stomach. 

The whispers of the ancestors in the back of her mind raged, and she could feel all of her stolen power surging through her veins. 

A monster had been awakened. 

And he was coming for them.

Davina opened her mouth and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, minor rant here, but I think that Damon’s treatment of Caroline - and then everyone subsequent ignoring of it - in season one was very problematic. It bothers me. I do not believe him to have raped Caroline, since she slept with him consensually and then everything changed when she realized he was a vampire afterwards, and the writer of the show corroborated that on twitter a while ago. But everything else? That was never addressed, and that makes me angry. And the thing is, that makes me sad since Damon is one of my favorite characters!! And in later seasons, his friendship with Caroline seems really genuine. I am just in a tough position where I don’t kinda know how to get from point A to point B with their relationship without making it look like I gave Damon a free pass for his behavior. This was my attempt at fixing that at least a little.
> 
> We are getting into the plot now! I hope that you guys are still excited for it. Jaime and Klaus meet in the next chapter, and the things REALLY get going. 
> 
> Also, I am trying so hard to keep to Luna’s character, but she is so hard for me to write. Let me know in the comments if you think I am really butchering it please.
> 
> Thank you so much for all the comments, kudos, and subscriptions! They honestly make my day and make me so motivated to write more and more.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, so sorry for the week delay in updating! I am currently doing a semester abroad, and last week was my "spring break" so I was off backpacking with a friend. We went through Vienna, Budapest, and Prague, and oh my god, I never wanted to leave. 
> 
> Hope that this chapter makes up for it! _A lot_ happens here, so I apologize if it seems to bounce around all over the place.

_The Black Lake - Fourth Year, November 25  
Post-First Task_

Jaime groaned as she collapsed against the trees, letting her limbs sprawl out wherever she fell, one arm over her eyes and forehead to block out the sun that filtered down between the leaves.

“You good there?” An amused voice asked. 

“Bugger _off_ Cedric, let me just lay here and relish the fact that I am alive and not dead at the talons of a dragon,” Jaime shot back without any bite in her words. 

“Excuse me, who was the one who almost got half of their face burned off?” 

Jaime lifted her arm just enough to see him standing near her feet, hands on his hips and an amused smile on his face. 

“What a shame, might have been an improvement.” 

That was a bold-faced lie; he was ridiculously handsome, and he knew it. 

Cedric chuckled, and she could hear him sitting down next to her, shoulder pressed warm against her own. They laid there underneath the tree in silence until she felt him shifting, and then a warm arm was draped across her stomach, and she could feel him bury his face against her shoulder. 

“You definitely deserved to be in first place. Well, tied for first place,” Cedric muttered into the shoulder of her jumper. 

Without moving the arm over her eyes, she blindly bent the arm he was half-lying on, contorting her hand a bit to be able to run her fingers through his fluffy hair. 

“I was terrified,” Jaime admitted. 

“I would honestly be more concerned for your sanity if you _weren't_ afraid.” 

The two laid like that for a few more minutes, before Cedric rolled back over and sat up, tugging on Jaime’s arm to draw her upwards into a sitting position with him. She whined in her throat jokingly at being forced out of her comfortable sprawl. 

Cedric looked uncharacteristically serious when she finally caught a full look at his face. 

“What?” 

He didn’t say anything, just kept staring at her with his storm-gray eyes. She wanted to squirm underneath the intensity of that gaze, wanted to look away, but she found she couldn’t. 

“You are only fourteen,” Cedric whispered, sounding so pained for a moment she was thrown for a loop. 

She had to tamp down her immediate urge to make a sarcastic comment when she was uncomfortable - it was the smart mouth Sirius told her that she had inherited from her father that would just start going with absolutely no filter in the most inappropriate moments - and tried to find appropriate words to say. 

Cedric didn’t seem to mind she had nothing to say in response. Instead, he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and hauled her closer to him, until she was almost in his lap. He held onto her with an edge of something desperate, like he was afraid that she was going to up and disappear. 

“Ced, what is going on?” 

He was silent for a long moment, before the words seemed to spring forth like water from a broken dam. 

“I watched from the medic tent as you went out into that arena…and you looked so small. You were just standing there, in front of the deadliest of the four dragons with just your wand, and from so far away it just looked as though you were just avoiding blows, not waiting for your broom. My heart nearly stopped half a dozen times watching you. And it struck me just how young you are, that you are in this competition with us, people who are at least three to four years older than you, with many more years of training and knowledge.” 

He pulled back a little bit to look her in the eyes again. 

“I am so sorry that I ever thought you put your own name in the Goblet. No one who did that would have looked like you did when you pulled the Hungarian Horntail out of the bag.” 

Jaime felt her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. 

She was touched beyond words. 

For all that Ron had finally admitted that he was wrong, his apology had been pretty absent. He did not apologize for the long weeks where his silence had weighed heavy on her, when his derision and disbelief in her had cut deeper than anyone else’s. 

She could handle the scorn of those who meant nothing to her. It would weigh heavy, but she would, and could, endure it. 

She did not realize how much it meant to her that someone apologized for believing the worst of her until someone did. 

“And thank you for warning me about the dragons,” Cedric continued, some mirth finally returning to his expression, but his arm not moving from around her.

Grasping onto the chance to make the moment less tense, Jaime blithely waved her hand through the air. 

“We may be competitors in this Merlin-damned tournament, but we are still both champions of Hogwarts. We can still help each other.” 

Cedric’s eyes were soft now, no longer stormy and conflicted. 

He lifted a hand and tugged on one of her curls, watching it spring back into place stubbornly. 

“Of course, Jaime.”

She had tilted her head back to beam up at him, still giddy and high off of the victory against the dragons - and the fact that she had survived - when Cedric ducked his head down to her height, his arm tightening slightly where it was wrapped around her. 

She had gasped in surprise when Cedric had pressed a hard, quick kiss against her open lips. It was awkward, over too fast, but she felt heat rise in her face and her lips tingled like they did when she had snuck that sip of fire whiskey at the Weasley’s house that summer. 

Cedric’s cheeks were barely flushed, but she could tell her was flustered, as if he had no idea why he had done that. For all that their friendship had been physically affectionate - as she constantly teased him about being the stereotypical touchy-feely Hufflepuff - it had never been romantic. 

Or at least, if he had been dropping hints about it being romantic, she had definitely not noticed. 

“Sealed with a kiss then, right Jaime?” 

Jaime had been shaken, but she wanted his lips pressed against hers again so desperately for a moment she forgot how to breath. She wanted him to kiss her again in a way she had never experienced before.

“Sealed with a kiss then, Ced.” 

And this time, when Cedric leaned in again to press another kiss - more refined, less harsh and less rushed - against her mouth, she did not jerk away in surprise. 

She closed her eyes and leaned into him. 

.  
.  
.  
.

_Mystic Falls, July 18th_

Jaime opened her eyes and stared at the top of her four-poster bed, trying to breath through the ache in her chest.

Maybe it had been the stress of moving, maybe it had been learning that this small, sleepy town that they thought would be safe but was instead crawling with vampires…maybe it was just another nightmare, and she was a fool for ever thinking that they would go away with distance. 

It was not the memories of the war that were the worst; those nightmares had her waking up in cold sweats, reaching for her wand, unable to sleep for the rest of the night. Those horrors were as vivid in her mind as they had been when they happened, and she had very nearly gotten addicted to the Dreamless Sleep potion before she had come to terms with it. 

No, the worst were the memories of the good times. The worst dreams were when she saw all those she had loved and lost. The hyperrealistic dreams, so sweet and perfect, that waking up and realizing they were gone crushed worse than a Bone Breaking hex. 

Seeing Sirius, joking around with her or showing her photos of him and her parents in school, seeing Cedric smile at her with that special smile and then leaning down to kiss her, the two of them exchanging sarcastic quips in between warm, comforting kisses, or Remus and Tonks smiling with love at each other over Teddy’s small head…seeing her lost family happy and whole in her dreams was worse than seeing the horrors. 

Because when she woke up, she had to grieve them all over again. 

She closed her eyes against the burn of tears and fought to remain in control. 

There was nothing she could do to numb the pain or chase it away forever, as much as she wished. She simply had to endure it. 

Just like she had endured everything else.

.  
.  
.  
.

Klaus could not remember the last time he felt so numb. 

He sat at the bar in the Grill, a bottle of Jack Daniels next to him that the nervous bartender - the one that Rebekah danced with at the thrice-damned ball his mother had put on, some blond jock that was as human as they came - had handed to him after he had growled out the order.

Kol and Charlotte had come roaring back into Mystic Falls earlier that morning to meet up with the increasingly twitchy Original Family. Klaus had been ready to fly to New Orleans himself, but Elijah had insisted that all of them stay put until Kol came and told them the whole story.

As much as he hated to admit it, his eldest brother was right. Splitting up now was probably the worst idea. 

Rebekah had all but thrown herself into Kol’s arms once he had crossed the threshold, shaking slightly in relief. Klaus had felt his heart clench a little bit seeing the surprise in Kol’s face; he had clearly not expected that they would all fear for his life so much.

So much damage had been done to their family, was there ever a hope of making it right again?

Charlotte had looked nervous, but Kol stood next to her as she explained everything that she had told Kol. About her great-niece, Mikael being awakened, the war that was going on in New Orleans. 

About Marcel being alive. 

_That_ had been what broke him. 

The memory of the night when they fled New Orleans was still raw and painful; it did not matter that it happened more than two centuries ago. The heat on his skin, the smell of smoke in the air, the sound of Marcel’s screams echoing in his ears... 

His little warrior was alive. 

It did not matter that Marcel had been twenty-five, technically older in body than Klaus had been when he had been turned. It did not matter that Marcel had been a vampire for more than one hundred years when they were chased out of New Orleans. Whenever he had thought about his adopted son, he thought about the young, nameless boy who had refused to let himself be beaten. He thought of the little boy who had fallen asleep leaning against his shoulder when nightmares kept him awake. He thought of the handful of times when Marcel had been too distracted or too tired in his youth to be embarrassed and had called him _“Father.”_

None of them spoke about the years following their flight from New Orleans. Kol had been daggered, of course, and Finn had never met Marcel, but he, Elijah and Rebekah had grieved. 

Rebekah had cried, and then simultaneously slept and fed her way through several men and a few women over the course of the following months. He could tell just from looking at his little sister that she had grieved beyond a familial way for Marcel, and although he had never mentioned noticing the lingering glances, he knew what had occurred between his little sister and Marcel. 

Elijah had hid it well, but he knew his older brother mourned the loss of the little one he had come to see as his nephew. He had been more stoic in the following months than he had ever been before, had refused to look at books that reminded him of Marcel, had refused to speak a word of his grief. 

They had all missed Marcel, had mourned him with a ferocity that none of them had experienced since the death of Henrik all those centuries ago. 

And now he was alive. 

And he had not come for them. 

He had abandoned them just as easily as everyone else had before. 

And that is what burned more than anything.

Klaus threw back another shot of Jack and then slammed the glass back on the bar, before whirling around and storming out of the Grill. 

He might want to numb himself with alcohol, but there were much bigger issues at hand that he needed a clear head for. 

They may have just won battle against their mother, but now it was time to plan war against their father. 

.  
.  
.  
.

“I hate how we are no longer legal to drink here, I just want a shot of something strong, for the love of Merlin,” Jaime hissed under her breath. Still raw from the memory-dream, tense and stressed, all she wanted was something to drink to numb her somewhat.

Luna laughed as she followed the black-haired girl through the entry to the Grill, the only restaurant in the town. It was just after the lunch rush, and there were not many people, thankfully. 

Jaime made a beeline for the bar, hoping against hope that she would be able to use her charisma to get herself a drink. She was not above simply summoning a bottle when no one was looking, but she did not want to have to obliviate anyone who might see her so it was not worth the risk unless really pushed. 

There was no one at the bar, thankfully, and she quickly waved down the blond bartender who crossed over to her with an amused look on his face. 

“Can I help you?” 

“Please, for the love of god, give me whatever you have that is strong.” 

“Can I see your ID?”

“Listen,” Jaime started, leaning closer so she could read the bartender’s name tag, “Matt, I am legal to drink in almost every European country, including the United Kingdom, where I am from and am still a citizen of, so please, just give me whatever is strong.” 

Matt looked even more amused at that. 

“I wish I could help you, but-“

“Ah, come on Matt, don’t be like that.” 

The unfamiliar voice had her tensing. She turned and saw the man who was standing next to her. He was handsome, if in an almost broody way. He had light brown hair that was perfectly styled, and a jawline so sharp that it could cut glass. His eyes were a pretty shade of green; unlike her own emerald eyes, they were a pale, spring green, like the color of a backlit lake. 

“Stefan,” Matt deadpanned, his face losing a bit of humor. 

Stefan just grinned at Matt, and motioned for the bottle of Jack Daniels that was sitting behind Matt, half of the contents already gone. 

“Just pass it over here Matt, you know that I am over 21,” Stefan smirked as if it were a running joke between them. 

All it took was Jaime flicking her gaze down to his hand to see the daylight ring. 

Another vampire. 

Jaime did not let herself show an outwards reaction. Instead, she pasted a bright smile on her face. 

Matt hesitated, but eventually he grabbed the bottle and passed it over to Stefan with a loaded warning look. Stefan just continued to smirk, and he grabbed three glasses from Matt before turning to Jaime and Luna, who was now perched on the stool on the other side of her friend. 

Jaime could tell just from the tilt of Luna’s mouth that she had seen the daylight ring, and that she was on guard. 

“Now, what are two lovely, foreign ladies such as you doing in a small town like Mystic Falls?” 

There was a cold, calculating look in his eyes that made Jaime want to snarl; if she thought the eyes of the asshole vampire from the grocery store were predatory, Stefan took it a step further. He did not look like a predator hunting prey; he looked at them like a predator that got off on a whole other level at cornering and playing with his prey. 

Jaime had been hunted enough times to know the dangerous difference. 

It was uncomfortably close to the look she had seen in Greyback’s eyes when they had been captured by him before they had been taken to Malfoy Manor. It had been a look in Dolohov’s eyes as he chased Jaime and Hermione through the Department of Mysteries when they were fifteen, and Jaime knew deep in her bones that if he had actually caught them, he would have tortured them and toyed with them long before he killed them. 

Jaime took two of the three empty glasses from Stefan, and then the bottle after he had finished filling his own; she would not trust him to pour her drink. 

She poured herself and Luna a decent amount, wordlessly casting a Purity charm on the alcohol just in case, before slugging the entire contents back. 

Even though the situation had just gotten more dangerous, she savored the burn as it went down her throat. 

Stefan raised an impressed eyebrow, throwing back his own glass. Luna chose instead to sip on hers - clearly thinking ahead, since one of them was going to have to drive home - large, luminous eyes missing nothing as she watched Stefan with an intensity that could burn. 

“Simply looking for a change of scenery,” Jaime answered his earlier question, warily watching him as he nodded and continued to drink, a tense silence descending between the three of them. 

Stefan made a motion to pour her another drink, but she stopped him with, “Thanks, but no thanks.” 

Stefan smiled like a shark. 

“Come on, just one more?” 

“No, thank you,” Jaime insisted. 

Luna’s hand was pressed against her lower back, and Jaime had to restrain the urge to turn and just run out of the bar with Luna. 

To hell with this damn town, they were going to find some place else. They had only been here for less than a week, but this stress was the exact opposite of what they had been looking for. 

Mind whirling with half-formed thoughts to just cut their losses and leave, Jaime watched out of the corners of her eyes, peripeherally aware Stefan placed the bottle of Jack on the bar, and then he was leaning in too close to her for comfort. Luna’s hand tightened in its grip on the back of her shirt, and Jaime was three second away from spewing curses - magical and non-magical - she was that wound up tightly.

Stefan’s pupils seemed to dilate rapidly, and his voice was like a siren’s croon, going, “Come on, one more drink, and than I can give you and your friend a tour of Mystic Falls.” 

There was an uncomfortable pressure in her head; it was close to what the Impirius curse had felt like, only instead of being awash in a pleasant haze, she was steady in her emotions and she could feel him trying to force his way into her mind. It was like cold fingers reaching into her skull, trying to mold her mind like clay.

Fury lit up inside her unlike anything she had felt since the war ended. 

It was almost too easy to slip back into the battle-hardened persona she had crafted for herself during the war, an armor she had perfected to protect herself from all that she had seen or had to do. That bloodthirsty, vindictive part of her rose to the surface like a wave, blocking out everything else.

With measured movements, Jaime put the glass down on the bar, before leaning forward to Stefan’s ear. He leaned forward into her space, clearly thinking the compulsion or whatever mind control he had tried to do had worked. 

“If you _ever_ try that vampire mind control shite on me or my friend again, I will bury a stake so far up your arse that you will be choking on the splinters, do you understand me?”

Stefan’s reeled back on his heels, eyes widened in disbelief and anger, and he snarled at her. Actually snarled at her.

Jaime had to repress the urge to snarl back. 

“You stay away from me and Luna,” Jaime warned before she reached blindly behind her, grabbed onto Luna’s hand, and together the two girls booked it out of the Grill, neither of them ever turning their back completely on the fuming predator they left behind them. 

.  
.  
.  
.

From across the street, a pair of interested eyes watched as two unfamiliar girls - one blond and one with curly black hair - booked it out of the Grill to a car. The blond hair girl got into the driver’s seat and they pealed out of the parking lot like there was a fire on their tail. 

A split second after they sped away, Stefan Salvatore came running out of the Grill, his face furious. 

_Ahh._

The Ripper was back.

Curiosity warring with the part of him that knew he had to start planning, Klaus turned and followed his once-friend as he ran at vampire speed away from the center of town. 

.  
.  
.  
.

The door to the boarding house burst open, slamming into the wall with enough pressure to put a hole in the wood. 

Damon spun around, expecting some kind of threat, only to see his little brother storm into the living room. 

“Whoa, calm down there baby bro, what has gotten you so riled up?”

Stefan snarled, grabbing one of the crystal glasses from the sideboard and threw it with full vampire strength against the opposite wall. It broke into a spectacular array of glass, thousands of pieces falling to the carpet below. 

“There are two new girls in town and they _know!”_

Blue eyes flashed dangerously, black vampire veins writhing beneath them. 

.  
.  
.  
.

Caroline hummed lightly to herself as she settled the two disposable pans of baked ziti and meatballs into her passenger seat, a batch of a dozen cupcakes in a travel box atop them. 

After she had stopped to introduce herself to Jaime and Luna three days ago, she had been toying around with the idea of making more food and heading over to their house again to drop it off, and hopefully talk to them again. 

Part of it was because she was a little worried that Damon was right, that there was something they were hiding that could be a danger to her friends. She had sensed nothing out of the ordinary, but then again, she knew herself well enough to know that she often was blinded by wanting to see the best in people. 

The other part was because it was just who she was as a person; she thrived off of planning events, beautification committees, and having a project and seeing it through. She loved helping people and being there when they needed someone. 

Something about the two girls made her want to look after them. They seemed like they needed friends in Mystic Falls, someone to protect them and be their support against the paranoia that had taken hold of many of them through the tough months they had faced. 

It must be so difficult moving to an entirely different country, let alone as orphans. 

Caroline’s heart broke for them, these two girls who had no other family but each other. She did not know what she would do without her mother; she had loved her father, but she had been let down by him so many times that she had learned quickly not to depend on him. She loved and depended on her mother so much, she could not imagine losing her and being alone in the world. 

So, maybe the others would be standoffish with Jaime and Luna, but she would be welcoming. She wanted to be their friend. 

And every goal was easier to accomplish with food. 

Humming to herself, she got behind the wheel and started driving towards the girl’s house. 

It did not take long, and when she got there, she was pleased to see their car was parked in the open garage. 

Brightly smiling, she knocked on the door, balancing the food in one arm. 

The door flew open quickly, and Jaime started in surprise when she saw Caroline. 

“Caroline! Sorry, we weren’t expecting people, come in,” Jaime stepped back and let Caroline walk into the front hall; she noticed the dark-haired British girl was staring intently into the front yard, almost like she was scanning for threats. 

“Hey, are you alright?” Caroline asked, concern creeping into her voice. She didn’t like seeing the hunted look on Jaime’s face; she looked almost…at ease with it, like she was used to looking over her shoulder. It was the kind of look that Elena was starting to have on her face now, and Caroline hated it.

“Yeah, sorry, just ran into a creep at the Grill earlier and I might have pissed him off,” Jaime blithely replied. 

“At the Grill? Do you know his name?”

Jaime waved her hand through the air as if she were physically banishing the question. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Jaime deflected, leading Caroline into the kitchen. 

“Did you cook us more food? You don’t have to do that, Caroline,” Jaime quickly changed the subject, taking the pans from Caroline and putting them on the table. 

“I like to cook, plus, it’s sometimes nice to have a meal that you did not have to cook yourself,” Caroline sat down across from Jaime at the island. 

Jaime smiled at Caroline, a warm smile that actually seemed to meet her eyes and melt away the tension she had in her shoulders earlier. Caroline tried not to preen a little bit at the knowledge that her gesture had been so well received. 

“Well, thank you very much for that,” Jaime thanked. 

“Of course! Now, back to the creep at the Grill…his name didn’t happen to be Damon Salvatore, did it?” Caroline asked. 

Jaime didn’t answer for a long moment; instead, she turned to the sink and started to fill up two glasses with water. Caroline took one from her, waiting in silence until Jaime finally sighed, turning back to face the blond. 

“No, it was not a Damon Salvatore. Matt, the bartender, called him Stefan.” 

The sip of water that Caroline had taken suddenly went down the wrong pipe as she inhaled in surprise. Immediately sent into a coughing fit, she covered her mouth until she was able to breathe again, eyes watering. 

“Stefan?! Are you sure?” 

Jaime cocked her head to the side, green eyes almost burning through Caroline. 

“Yes, he tried to get Luna and I to leave with him, and that obviously was not going to happen. We are new in town, we don’t know anything about him, so nope.” 

Caroline’s mind raced; Elena had been so certain that Stefan was going to be able to come back from his summer Ripper spell under Klaus, that he was making progress already. But if he had been trying to lure Luna and Jaime out of the Grill…

Was he planning on feeding on them? Or had he spoken to Damon, and had Damon raised his suspicions to his brother like he had with her? Was Damon so convinced that there was something so wrong with the two girls that he was going to bring in the unstable “big guns?” 

“I take it from your reaction that you know him?”

“Um…he’s the brother of the guy I asked you about, Damon. I do know them. Don’t let Stefan leave you with a bad impression, he had a…a rough summer, he’s not really been himself lately. We’ve been trying to help him, but it’s been slow going,” Caroline tried to explain without giving anything away. 

Jaime was silent for a long moment. She had to resist the urge to squirm underneath the British girl’s intense, searching stare. 

The sound of footsteps behind her had her turning, grateful to break eye contact. 

It was Luna, dressed in a gauzy white dress, hair loose around her shoulders and feet bare. She was wearing a necklace of what looked like bottle caps, and her earrings looked like mini-radishes. 

“Caroline, how lovely to see you again,” Luna greeted in her airy voice, crossing the kitchen directly to the cupcake box atop the ziti pans. 

“And with cupcakes!” Luna exclaimed with childish delight, immediately taking one out of the box. 

“I was just telling Caroline about our…encounter with that Stefan guy today at the Grill. She knows him,” Jaime explained. 

Luna’s pleasant expression did not change, but the tone of her voice did. 

“Oh?” 

“I was just telling Jaime, don’t take it…too seriously, I guess. Stefan had a rough summer, he has not really been himself lately,” Caroline reiterated, mentally freaking out and already dreading the conversation she was going to have to have with Elena about it. 

“Alright then,” Luna said noncommittally, before launching into a complete change of topic about the bookstore they had visited earlier, and Caroline grabbed onto the change with both hands. Soon, the three girls were laughing and giggling, planning trips to neighboring larger cities for shopping trips. 

It was the most normal Caroline had felt in a long time. 

Needless to say, it was not going to last long. 

.  
.  
.  
.

With cell phone numbers exchanged, and the promise that she would text them about a weekend shopping trip, Caroline left their house about an hour later almost walking on air, even with the weighty concern of Stefan still on her shoulders. 

She had just unlocked her car when she felt hands on her shoulders, spinning her around roughly. 

Her back hit her car with a hollow _thud,_ and she hissed involuntarily, vampire veins wriggling under her eyes before she recognized who it was. 

“Stefan, what the hell?!” She whisper-demanded, immediately looking over her shoulders to make sure that Jaime and Luna were not near any windows. The way that she had parked made it so that their bodies were blocked from the front of the house by her car, but if Jaime and Luna were on the second flood, they would be able to see Stefan and her clearly. 

“What did you talk to them about!? Do they know!?” Stefan demanded, his face twisted into a sneer. 

_“What?_ What are you _doing_ here? Jaime told me you tried to lure them with you out of the Grill, what the hell were you thinking!?” 

Stefan grabbed her upper arms and shook her slightly, and she had to resist the urge to punch him. She _hated_ being man-handled. 

“Caroline! I tried to compel her, and she _knew!_ She knew about vampires, and she threatened to stake me. What did she tell you?! Is she a hunter?” 

Caroline’s mind whirled; at the genuine shock on her face, Stefan let her go, and she leaned back against her car, trying to think. 

“No, she never…they never made any indication that they knew!”

Stefan hissed under his breath, the heightened stress making the vampire veins under his eyes wriggle. 

“Stefan, calm down, I’m sure there is an explanation for this-“

“You got invited into their house? You can get in?” 

“Stefan-“

“You need to go back in, pretend you forgot something, and try to compel them to forget, or something, anything, keep them away from vervain until it is out of their system and then compel them-“

“Stefan, I am not _breaking into their home -“_

Stefan snarled again, and Caroline was now genuinely concerned that he was becoming unhinged slightly. 

“Fine, if you won’t do it, I will do something about it before they expose us!” 

Stefan whirled away from her, stomping up the front yard to the door, vaulting up the stairs to the porch. Caroline immediately used her vampire speed to put herself between him and the front door. 

“Stefan, you need to stop!”

He did not hear her, or he did not care, because he was suddenly in her face, grabbing onto her arms again, mouth opening to yell something when the front door burst open, and a voice was yelling out, _“Bombarda!”_

Caroline spun around, confused, only to see Jaime standing in the entryway, a piece of wood held in her hand and pointed at Stefan, who flew through the air, straight through the porch balcony and into the front yard. 

He scrambled onto his feet, his eyes still bloodshot and veins underneath blackened as he snarled, speeding for the human girl. 

Luna was suddenly there, her eyes hard and cold as steel, a piece of wood held in her hand as well. 

_“Stupefy!”_

Stefan’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut. 

Silence reigned for a long moment. 

“What-“ Caroline started, only for Luna to rush by her and yell, _“Incarcerous!”_

Stefan was suddenly bound in ropes, from neck to ankle. With another word and flick of the wood in her hand, Luna turned the ropes turned into chains. 

Jaime’s eyes were scanning the forest now, and Caroline watched as her eyes narrowed and she hissed in a voice that suddenly sounded inhuman, _“Serpensortia.”_

A snake - a _giant snake_ \- erupted out of _nowhere,_ curling and hissing back at Jaime. It was a boa constrictor, at least fifteen feet long, as thick around the middle as Caroline’s thigh.

Jaime _hissed_ something back, almost like she was speaking the language of the snake, and with surprising speed, the snake slithered off into the forest. 

“Scout?” Luna asked, and Jaime nodded. 

“If there is anyone else out there, he’ll catch them. If not, he will report back in a few minutes.” 

Out in the distance, there was a yelled curse in a voice that Caroline recognized as Damon, and then a piercing scream that sounded like Elena. 

Of course Stefan bought reinforcements. 

_Shit._

This disintegrating into chaos.

“Well, there they are,” Luna said almost cheerfully, turning to Caroline and taking the shocked blond’s hand. 

“I’ll go get them,” Jaime reluctantly sighed, as if she were talking about running to the mailbox in the rain rather than going to save two of Caroline’s friends from the clutches of a giant boa constrictor. 

Jaime casually walked down the front porch steps, across the lawn, and into the woods, as if she were strolling through a park. 

Caroline turned to Luna, clearly desperate for an explanation. 

Luna squeezed Caroline’s hand comfortingly, smiling up at her. 

“How about some tea while we wait for them?” 

.  
.  
.  
.

Jaime did not have to hike far into the woods to find her scout. 

In a clearing about forty yards away from the front yard, her summoned snake was wrapped around the legs of two people, hissing menacingly in the face of the asshole she had run into at the grocery store. Behind him was a pretty brown-haired girl, probably the same age as herself, who was struggling as well.

“What the _fuck_ is this?!” The dark-haired man snapped, one arm around the girl plastered to his back, the other trying to pry the coils of the boa off of him. 

_Good luck with that,_ Jaime thought to herself, _they are stronger than even you with your supernatural strength. Gotta love magic._

“I take it you are Damon Salvatore,” Jaime called. 

The dark-haired vampire’s gaze shot up, and she had to hold back a giggle at the surprised look on his face. 

_“You!”_

“Yes, me. I am assuming that you are the brother of Stefan Salvatore, the vampire that tried to break into my house?” Jaime asked blandly. 

Damon’s eyes flashed, the blue turning dark and the veins underneath darkening as he lost his control on his vampiric face.

“What did you do to him?!”

“He’s alive, keep your pants on,” Jaime shrugged, before cocking her head to the side to address the girl behind him. 

“And you are?” 

“Human, my name is Elena!” The girl called out, fear making her voice shoot up in pitch that almost hurt her ears. 

“Well, would you two care to explain why you and Stefan are trespassing on my property and threatening me and my friend?” Jaime asked as if she were simply inquiring about the weather. 

“You know about vampires, we just wanted to make sure you were not a hunter!” Elena immediately responded, and Damon cast a look of disbelief over his shoulder. 

“Elena, first rule of being captured, remain calm under questioning!” 

Jaime rolled her eyes, still amused even though she was definitely worried about how this entire messy situation was going to play out. 

It would be an interesting experiment to see if _Obliviation_ worked on vampires like them, even with their own inherent ability to compel others. 

“I am not a hunter,” Jaime reassured.

“Just a witch?” Damon shot back. 

Jaime didn’t answer, instead walking a few paces closer as if to get a better look at them. 

“I am going to snap your skinny neck if you don’t get your stupid pet to release us!” 

Her summoned snake hissed threateningly, snapping precariously close to Damon’s outstretched hand. 

_“No,”_ Jaime ordered in Parseltongue, to Damon’s clear horror, _“I will handle this insult,”_ Jaime reassured. 

_“Yess, mistresss,”_ the boa hissed back. 

“Are you _talking_ to it?!” Damon looked horrified. 

Jaime pointed her wand at Damon, and he stiffened with fear even as he met her gaze threateningly. 

Smirking slightly, she flicked her wrist and called out, _“Levicorpus!”_

Damon was yanked into the air by his ankles, yelping like a caught dog. The boa immediately constricted tighter around Elena to keep the girl from running off, even as she called out for Damon. 

Damon hung there, upside-down in the air, fighting and flailing as he tried to free himself from the magic. It took him all of a few seconds to realize that there was no way that he was going to get down. 

“What kind of witch _are you?!”_

Jaime smirked up at the trapped vampire. 

“Your worst nightmare." 

Before she could do anything else, an accented voice behind her cut through her amusement, and she immediately whirled around, wand held at the ready. 

“While that was quite an impressive display of magic, I do think it is time for me to step in.”

There was a tall blond man, smirking, on the opposite edge of the clearing. He was wearing jeans, a plain gray shirt, a leather jacket, and an arrogant expression. He had appeared without a sound, and a single look at his hand showed another lapis lazuli ring. 

Well, that answered that question of how many vampires this small town could hold. 

Jaime knew she had jinxed them by questioning it. For Merlin’s sake...

The man nodded to Damon and Elena; Damon, who was still hanging in the air by one ankle, and Elena, who was frozen in the coils of the snake.

“I would ask you kindly to release her. I honestly do not care about Salvatore, but the lovely lady is someone that I need for the future, so please do not spill a single drop of her valuable blood.” 

Elena looked at the man across the clearing with more fear than she had looked at the snake wrapped around her legs. Jaime’s eyes flashed dangerously; something within her snapped. 

Blood magic was powerful; she knew that first hand. Pureblood mansion’s wards were powered off of blood, and they were nigh impossible to break. Unicorn blood bestowed eternal life, with the curse to follow. Blood had power, and unlike other magic, intent or consent did not matter.

The scar on her arm from where Pettigrew had cut her to take her unwilling blood to resurrect Voldemort seemed to _burn._

She did not know this Elena girl other than the stories Caroline had told her, but she knew that no one deserved to be used as this man threatened. No one deserved to be threatened like that, never.

Letting her summoned scout keep an eye on Damon and Elena, she turned her wand on the tall blond man. He raised an eyebrow sardonically at her, clearly underestimating her power. 

That was fine. Her life and the lives of her friends had been saved many times because enemies had underestimated her.

_"Petrificus Totalus!”_

The smirking man’s face became a frozen expression of shock, as his arms snapped to his sides and he went rigid as a board. She didn’t cast a cushioning charm, and was very pleased at the painful sounding _thud_ he made when he slammed into the ground. 

“What the _fuck-“_

Jaime turned back around to look at Damon and the girl, Elena, who were staring at her in shock and a decent amount of fear.

“Did you just kill him?!” Elena asked in a trembling voice, her gaze flicking back and forth between Jaime and Damon without pause. 

“No, he’s just paralyzed in that position until it either wears off or I take the spell off of him,” Jaime reassured, leaning over the jinxed man to smirk in his face, poking his arm with her toe just to show to Elena and Damon that he was frozen like that. His eyes promised retribution, but she was not worried.

Turning back to Elena, she asked, “If I release you, will you remain calm?” 

Elena nodded frantically, raising her hands in the universal “surrender" sign.

_“Thank you,”_ Jaime hissed to the snake, _“Your work is done.”_

_“Yesss, mistresss,”_ the snake hissed back, before uncoiling herself from Elena. A flick of her wand, and the snake disappeared into a puff of smoke. 

“Well then,” Jaime said, hands on her hips as she addressed the shaking human girl, “how about we go back to my house, I am sure Luna is putting on some tea, and we can all explain ourselves and stop this circus from continuing, hmm?"

.  
.  
.  
.

Jaime let Damon down, the vampire crumpling to the leave-strewn ground in a cursing heap. She kept a wary eye on him, but he just climbed to his feet with a glare, immediately crossing to Elena’s side. Elena grabbed onto his arm frantically, and they followed Jaime back to the house without a word, the blond haired man floating behind them like a strange log.

Jaime had been right; Luna was serving some tea to a shaken looking Caroline, a stunned and bound Stefan now laying in their front room. 

“What did you do to him!?” Elena exclaimed, crossing over to Stefan’s side immediately, hands frantic as she patted at his face, trying to wake him up. 

“He’s just stunned, we’ll awaken him in a moment,” Jaime placated, letting Klaus fall onto the couch near Stefan before turning to Luna, who offered her friend a cup of tea prepared just how she liked it: tiny drop of honey, a whole lemon wedge squeezed in. 

“Thanks Luna,” Jaime said, taking a sip. 

“Well then…I guess explanations are needed,” Luna announced, taking a sip of her own tea before putting the mug down on the counter. Luna pointed her wand at Stefan, and cast an _Enneverate._

The vampire jerked awake violently, snarling and fighting against his chains. He stopped when he saw Damon and Elena at his sides, Caroline behind them. 

“What,” he started, panting, “the _hell_ is going on?”

“If you calm down enough for us to let you out of the chains and don’t attack, you might actually get answers to your questions,” Luna answered serenely. 

Stefan didn’t agree, but he stopped struggling. Luna pointed her wand at the chains and cast another charm, this time a _“Finite,”_ and the chains disappeared. 

Stefan climbed to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster, crossing the room to stand at Damon’s side, his gaze wary. 

“Jaime, want to free up our other guest?” Luna asked with amusement. 

Sighing as if she had been asked to complete an impossible task, Jaime cast her own _Finite_ at the blond man on their couch. 

Klaus was on his feet as soon as he was freed from the spell, using his vampire speed to immediately pin Jaime to the wall behind her. 

Jaime did not flinch. She kept a firm grip on her wand, and she knew without a doubt in her mind that Luna had her wand trained on his back. 

He stared down at her menacingly for a long moment, before he spotted something.

Klaus kept one hand firmly on her shoulder, not tight enough to seriously hurt but enough to bruise, raising his free hand to brush some of the hair back from her forehead, uncovering the lightning bolt scar that had faded somewhat in prominence after the death of Voldemort, but still stood out against her skin. 

Emerald green met ocean blue, and Klaus threw back his head and laughed. 

“Well, well, well… _Harriet Potter._ I have heard many stories about you throughout the years. Tell me, why is the Chosen One, hero of the wand-wielding wizards, doing across the ocean hiding in a small American town?”

Jaime cocked her head to the side. 

He didn’t know. 

She could already tell. 

It had only taken a few months between the end of third year and the middle of September going into fourth year - accelerated by Rita Seeker and her bloody large lying mouth and scathing articles - for people to start calling her Jaime like she asked. Very few people continued to call her Harriet after that, and those people were Severus Snape, her aunt, uncle, and cousin. 

That slip alone made her think that Klaus had heard of her kind, knew a little about them, knew about her role to play in the wizarding world...but not much else. 

He did not know her power, her skill, her battle-hardened reflexes. He did not know the extent of their power. He didn’t know about the war, or about anything else of her world, more than whispers and rumors.

Meanwhile, she knew more about his origin story than he did of hers. 

And if there was one thing that the war had taught her, was that knowledge was certainly power. 

Jaime kept her face blank of all telling emotion. 

“I put down one megalomaniac intent on murder and destruction. I had hoped this would be a relaxing break, but something is telling me I might have to put down one more.”

Klaus raised an eyebrow. 

“Kitten’s got claws.”

“Lion, actually. And I will rip you apart if you threaten me and mine.”

“Such fighting words, love. You’re not afraid of the Big, Bad, Wolf?”

Sending a silent apology to Remus, hoping maybe he would find humor in this, she retorted, “I faced down the Big, Bad Wolf when I was thirteen and won,” and here she cast a derisive look up and down the length of his body, making sure to look at the crotch of his jeans for a long moment before making direct eye contact again, “And let's just say he was _much_ bigger than you.”

For a moment, they were locked in a silent battle of wills, gazes fierce and pride not letting them look away. 

Finally, after a long, tense moment, Klaus let out a breathy, half-scoffing laugh. 

“Such spirit,” he whispered almost to himself, before he let her go and took a few steps back, before turning to the four of the incompetent Mystic Falls gang who had been watching everything go down from the other side of the room. 

“Why are you two fools here?” He directed the question to the Salvatore brothers, who were predictably standing guard on either side of the Petrova doppelgänger. Caroline Forbes was standing a little bit in front of them, closer to Luna, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. 

“She threatened me earlier today, I wanted to make sure she did not expose us,” Stefan started, motioning to Jaime. 

Jaime scoffed loudly, “After you tried your freaky vampire compulsion on me and my friend, I sure did. And it wasn’t a threat, it was a promise.”

Elena turned to Stefan, a betrayed and disappointed look on her face. 

“You tried to compel her? Were you going to feed on them? Stefan!”

Stefan did not look cowed or guilty; the Ripper in him, the part of him that refused to go away easily. 

“Please stop with the moral superiority, Elena, it only works if someone gives a shit about your opinion and I find myself lacking in that department recently.”

Elena reeled back as if she had been slapped, her eyes filling up with tears. 

Damon stepped forward, pushing Stefan back a few steps. 

“Chill out for a bit with the asshole commentary, that was always my thing and people can only handle one asshole Salvatore.”

Stefan rolled his eyes and turned back to Klaus. 

“Why are you here?” Stefan bit out, angers twisting his handsome features into something almost ugly.

“I saw you running out of the Grill like the devil himself had threatened you, and with previous news I have received I found myself concerned about why.”

Caroline stepped forward, making sure to keep herself between the Salvatore’s and Luna, who was watching them all with an air of amusement, even as she kept a firm grip on her wand. 

“What news?”

Klaus was silent for a long moment, locking gazes with everyone in the room, clearly weighing the pros and the cons of filling them in on the threat.

Something must have clicked in his mind, because he turned to Jaime and Luna with a new light in his eyes; he stared at them searchingly, clearly seeing something in their expressions or postures that convinced him of something. 

“Katerina had made a pest out of herself again, allied with some witches to awaken my father from his desiccated sleep. And he is coming to kill me and my siblings, and by extension, the entire race of vampires we have sired.” 

Silence rang throughout the room again, before Damon broke it with a deadpanned, “Shit.”

“My sentiments _exactly.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the comments, kudos, subscriptions, and bookmarks! Please keep them coming, I love hearing your opinions and thoughts about my little story here!
> 
> Next chapter is going to be a bit shorter. Every fifth chapter or so, we are going to have a small interlude where we check back in with some of our favorite Harry Potter characters back in England. They are just as important to this story, and I want to make sure that when things start merging more and more, there is some background. 
> 
> I hope you like Klaus and Jaime's first meeting! It is definitely going to set the tone for the rest of their relationship. 
> 
> Also, to answer a bit of a question, yes, Jaime being the "Master of Death" is going to come into play here, but since I don't want to give away too many spoilers, you will all just have to wait and see!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and once again, sorry for the delay!


	5. five - interlude

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Face Claim:**  
> [PANSY](https://bit.ly/2HsKydv) • [ POSY](https://bit.ly/2H3XPKe) • [THEO](https://bit.ly/2Hcs0hw) • [BLAISE](https://bit.ly/2HhMeGC) • [ANDROMEDA TONKS ](https://bit.ly/2JF1Q5l)
> 
> The actor that played Viktor Krum in the movies has aged like a goddamn fine wine, and here is a photo of how he looks now in real life/how I picture Viktor in this fic: [VIKTOR](https://bit.ly/2ILAKZe)
> 
> **Trigger Warnings for Chapter Content:**  
>  Heavily implied/alluded to sexual assault, descriptions of triggers

**_Amalfi Coast, Italy  
July 18th_ **

Ron frowned as he read the letter that Jaime had sent him, rereading each line and trying to put his finger on what was bothering him. 

The letter was cheerfully written. Jaime had told him about their new house, about the small town that they had settled in. Luna had said hello in a small post script on the bottom, and it seemed as if the two girls were really settling in well, even though according to the date - July 15th - they had only been there officially for less than a day when the letter had been sent. 

It was a happy letter; Ron was still on edge. 

“Ron?” 

At the sound of the cheerful, childish voice, Ron immediately put a smile on his face, wiping away all traces of worry in a move he had been having a lot of practice in. 

He turned and looked down at the little girl standing behind him. 

Posy beamed up at Ron, immediately taking his hand in one of hers; she was so much smaller than him, he had to slouch slightly so that her arm was not sticking straight up at an awkward angle. 

“Hey, Pose, what’s going on?” He asked brightly. 

Posy giggled before pulling his arm, making a dramatic show of trying to move his large frame. 

“Come on! Pansy said that we could go to the beach today!” 

“The beach? Again!” Ron repeated dramatically, internally rolling his eyes a little bit. If Posy had her way, she would live permanently on the beach, burrowing in the sand like a crab. 

The villa was not far from the beach at all, but it was far enough away that Posy could not go there on her own. There were a few streets to cross, and the muggle motorcycle drivers in Italy were absolutely insane. Then there was the whole fact that Pansy refused to let Posy go swimming unless there was someone there to watch her, so more often than not, when Posy wanted to go to the beach, it was a whole affair. 

Sundays were often beach days, and aside from having to constantly recast a sun-protection spell or use the muggle form of sunscreen, he enjoyed them immensely. 

Part of it did have to do with seeing Pansy in one of those bikini swim suits. 

Muggles came up with the greatest things. 

Ron let Posy drag him to the front of the villa, her giggles light and airy and making the cloud of unease he had been under recede a bit. 

The three of them had come a long way together, and now, he felt like his and Posy’s relationship was something more than just that of being her big sister’s boyfriend. He cared deeply about Posy, and seeing her laugh and be the child she was heartening. 

Part of him had railed at just…living in his girlfriend’s villa. There was a part of him that was always hyperaware that his family could never, in a million years, afford to live in a place like this. For Pansy, the things she had long been used to - the house elves, the multiple houses, the designer clothes - were all things that made him uncomfortable with the knowledge that he could never give them to her. 

Pansy didn’t care at all; he knew that intellectually, but sometimes, it still rubbed his skin raw and he would have to go for a long walk to make sure he did not snap at her in his ire. 

It had just taken one time of lashing at her - unfairly, cause she had honestly been just asking him a question about his preference for something or other - and he refused to _ever_ do it again. She had jerked back from him, skittering back a few steps like a frightened deer. She had stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, before her entire gaze went blank, her eyes remote and far away. She had retreated so far into herself that for a long moment he thought she would never come back. 

The bruises from the night that Pansy had run from her home may have faded, but they left a permanent mark on her soul.

Pansy still never spoke aloud of what happened to her that night, but they all knew. Pansy had refused to let anyone come close to her - except for Posy and Draco - or to touch her in the weeks and months following her defection. Even the healers were not allowed close to her. The night she had appeared, Draco had disappeared into a back bedroom with her to help her apply salves and bind wounds, and the ferret had come out looking even paler.

In the beginning stages of their relationship, Pansy had been skittish around him. She had never turned her back to him, had watched his hands almost obsessively. She would flinch at loud noises and sudden movements. She slept with her back to walls and on her side facing the door. She had never worn her hair loose, instead wore it charmed up into a tight bun or braid, even when she slept. 

Even now, when they were in bed together, Pansy would not let him hold her from behind. She would hold him, her front plastered to his back. Or, they would sleep face to face. 

Anything that constricted her hands or her throat were off limits as well. Holding hands had to be initiated by her; she did not like being touched without warning. 

It had taken a while for him to see the signs, to see her tensing. Pansy refused to say anything why, but would just mention off-handedly “Warn me before you sneak up on me!” and he would know that it made her feel trapped.

Now, there was an easy knowledge of their triggers between the two. How Ron hated to be cold even now, how anything resembling a chain around his neck reminded him too viciously of the Horcrux that had poisoned his mind. How Ron was almost obsessive in checking his surroundings, how he could never have his back to a door in an unfamiliar place. 

Pansy never made fun of him for that. If he slipped out of bed in the middle of the night to walk around the perimeter, or to check on Posy and the magical wards, she knew that he did it because he was still afraid that something would happen in the middle of the night and he would not be prepared.

It took a while for them to find their footing, but they finally managed it. And they were all the stronger for it. 

Posy wore her hair loose around her shoulders now when they were in the house, and a few nights ago, she had pulled his hands up to her face and let him thread his fingers through her loose hair as he kissed her. She did not flinch every time he made a jerky movement now, and these little signs of trust meant everything to him.

Pansy was standing at the front of the villa, her hands on her hips as she watched with amusement as her boyfriend was pulled by her little sister. By her side was a picnic basket and her own stripped beach bag that she used all the time. 

Ron groaned dramatically, “Please tell me that the house elves were the ones to pack the lunch.” 

“Shut up, you git,” Pansy joked back. 

It was a running joke between the two of them - since neither of them could cook worth a damn - that without the house elves, they would all starve. Pansy had tried her hand at cooking exactly once to prove a point, and when she had nearly given them all food poisoning, they decided to just leave the kitchen as the house elves domain. 

Posy reached out and took her sisters hand, the little girl’s smile so wide it almost threatened to crack her cheeks. 

“Let’s _gooo!”_ Posy dragged out the word dramatically, as if she would die if they had to dawdle a moment longer. 

“Alright, alright!” Pansy joked, leaning down to pick up the picnic basket and hand it to Ron, who held it in his free hand. Pansy grabbed her own bag and slung it over her shoulder, before opening the door and leading them out into the sun.

They walked down the decorative stone path, through the fence gate that marked the edge of the wards, and onto the muggle street. They slipped into the crowd easily, the Notice-Me-Not charms on the property making it appear as if they had just come from one of the small homes that were on either side of the hidden villa, and not like they came out of thin air. 

Posy hummed lightly to herself, skipping happily between them. Over her head, Pansy shot him a smile, and he returned it with one of his own without hesitation. 

A few more minutes walking down the road, they crossed quickly, walking down another path, across another road, and then they were on the beach. 

Posy was almost vibrating with excitement, but she managed to help him and Pansy set up their spot on the beach: laying down the large blanket (spelled to keep sand off of it, of course), setting up the large umbrella, casting a few sun-blocking charms on their exposed skin. 

Finally, Pansy smiled at Posy and nodded, and the eight-year-old whooped for joy and sprinted to the water, diving into the clear blue water with a spectacular splash. 

Ron couldn’t help but laugh at Posy’s delight; it was contagious. 

Pansy pulled a large sun hat out of her bag, straightening it on her head before stripping off her dress, standing before him in just a simple black bikini. 

Ron could feel himself flush, and it was not just because of the sun. 

Pansy dropped the dress into her bag with a smirk at his reaction, straightened her top, and then went down to the edge of the water to stick her feet in. 

He watched her walk from where he sat, safe from the sun under the umbrella, and saw Posy smile and swim up to her big sister, saw the two of them start splashing each other, their giggles echoing over the sand. 

Something warm inside his chest slowly started to unfurl, the rest of the unease that he had felt reading Jaime’s letter evaporating like water in the hot sun. He suspected that a part of him would always be worried about her and Hermione when they were not with him; it came with being best friends, with living through what they had. 

He hoped that his friend had found peace and happiness in America, just like had found it here in Italy.

He hoped she would find someone to chase away the darkness, like he had. 

And to the beckoning call of his beautiful girlfriend and her adorable sister, he left the safety of the umbrella to sprint pell-mill into the water, creating the largest splash he could, to Posy’s delight and Pansy’s loving exasperation.

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**_Ottery St. Catchpole_**  
**_Devon, England_**  
**_Diggory Homestead_**

Annabel Diggory put quill to parchment for what had to have been the hundredth time in the past week alone. She got only two words out, the salutation _Dear Jaime,_ before she put the quill down and simply stared at the blank parchment. 

The house seemed to almost echo with emptiness around her. Even her breathing seemed too loud. 

The Diggory Homestead used to be filled with life, even with just the three of them. It would be Amos singing along to the Wizarding Radio, shuffling papers in his office or it would be Cedric and his friend’s outside, whooping and hollering as they flew around on their brooms and performed dives that would make her heart skip a beat. 

There would be family friends over, dinner parties, nights where the little ones would be sleeping in the guest room on transfigured cots, while their parents drank brandy and joked around in the kitchen. There would be holiday parties, decorations, laughter, yelling from the stairs when one was too lazy to get up, doors opening and closing and the sound of feet pounding up and down stairs.

Now, it was all hollow emptiness. 

Amos was still at work, as he had been for months as the war rebuilding effort continued. And even when he was home, silence still reigned, neither of them able to be in the same room for long. 

After all these years of marriage, now when they needed it the most, they could find nothing to bridge the silence and the grief between them.

During the war, the Diggory Homestead had been a safe house for the Order of the Phoenix. With the blood wards protecting them, it had been one of the safer ones, where those most injured had been transferred for long-term healing. A small oasis of comfort in the middle of the darkest years any of them could remember since the last time Voldemort had been in power. 

Then, it had been the calls for help, the moans of the injured, the screams of those trapped in nightmares, and the constant barked order for _more pressure, transfigure more bandages, we are out of potions -_

It had been awful, horrible, but there had been _people._ She had had a _task._

Before she had had Ce - before she had been a mother, Annabel had been a healer, one of the best trauma healers that St. Mungo’s had at the time. They had been upset when she had retired, but they had understood. She had wanted to be home for every precious moment with her son, the only child she would ever be able to have.

Slipping into the role of head healer again had been like pulling on an old, familiar jumper. It fit right, settled perfectly, and warmed her. It had been a shield against the cold, something to hold onto when she did not want to think about anything else. 

She might not be a fighter, not a dueler like Amos was and Cedric had been, but she knew she was strong in a different way. Blood, intestines, broken bones, cries of pain and fear, she had been able to shoulder it all and keep moving. Keeping a clear head when treating injuries of this caliber meant the difference between life and death, and that clarity had always been something that had come easily to her. 

Too often, she had been setting bones the muggle way, no Skelo-Grow or pain potion left. She had used all of her knowledge to save fighter after fighter and civilian after civilian. She had charmed and sewed entrails back into abdomens, had comforted victims of the Cruciatus curse through the horrible tremors afterwards, had unraveled dark curses that had victims spewing blood for hours.

She had to tell family members that their loved one was gone, had held their hands and tried to shoulder some of the burden of their grief, if only for a few minutes. She had held a sobbing mother, pushing back her own tears as she told the poor woman that her daughter, only six years old, would not survive the night, another innocent lost to Frenrir Grayback’s sadistic attempts to turn children.

As awful as those moments had been, she had had something to focus on. She had had a task, something to do that made her feel like she was making a difference. She had been doing her part to fight against the madman that had killed her son. She was spitting in the face of the dark with each life she saved from it. 

And for every person that she had saved, that was one more mother that would not have to stand at the grave of her child. 

No parent should have to bury their child. 

Now, left to the silence and peace of a home empty, Annabel felt even more adrift. 

Recently, she had been haunted more and more by Jaime Potter. 

The last time she had seen the young girl, Jaime had been in their home, looking pale and drawn as she stared at the magical photos lining the halls depicting Cedric in all stages of his life, happy and smiling. She had looked so pale and sad; the grief had been clear, bright and harsh in the girl’s emerald eyes.

Jaime had been there with the Malfoy boy. The boy’s whipped back sometimes haunted Annabel’s dreams. It had been one of the more brutal wounds she had healed during this war, and if Jaime had waited even another hour to seek professional treatment, they would have lost him. 

Hermione and Jaime had done a good job treating him, but even they could not have stopped the dark infection that spread, nearly taking the young boy’s life. Draco had been delirious, calling out for Jaime and for his mother, telling friends to run, babbling nonsense and fighting against those that restrained him. 

Jaime had sat by his side silently the entire time, holding him down and following barked orders without hesitation. When Draco thrashed and called out for her, she sat near his head and held his hand, stroking his blond hair with one hand. When they needed to cut open his lashes again and had no pain potion to give him, she held his shoulders down with an iron strength even as he screamed. 

Annabel had not been able to speak to Jaime longer than to direct her while treating Draco. She wished she would have been able to, wished that she had been able to wrap the poor girl up in a tight hug and not let go for a long time.

Jaime had looked at her with a tumultuous mix of grief, pain, guilt, and shame. Annabel wished she had been able to tell Jaime that it was alright, that she did not blame her at all. She wished that she had been able to heal that wound, but she had not been able to.

As soon as Draco was given all the treatment he needed and his mother had been bought to him, Jaime had left, back to the war effort and the thankless tasks she had to complete. 

The first time she had asked Amos about Jaime after the Final Battle had been won, Amos’ face had twisted into something ugly and unfamiliar. He had snarled at her that _he never wanted to hear her ask about that girl again,_ that _Potter was the reason that Cedric was dead_ and _how could you ever care about her? Do you not miss Cedric? Did you not care at all that he was dead?_

It had been like a slap in the face. She had stared at Amos in horror, and then turned and fled to their room, locking it magically behind her. Amos had slept on the couch that night, and the next day, he had curtly apologized for upsetting her before disappearing to work. 

She had never mentioned it again, and not another word was exchanged about it.

Thank Merlin for Molly Weasley, as the matriarch had became her source of news about Jaime Potter. 

Molly told her how Jaime was helping as much as she could with reconstruction, but how she was still struggling with the trauma. It had been Molly who told her that Jaime still called out for Cedric in her sleep, still had nightmares of the night that he had been killed. It had been Molly who told her about how sometimes, Jaime would pull out an old Hufflepuff Quiddich jumper that had _Digggory_ embroidered on the back and hold it to her face, as if she could drown out the entire world with it.

Many times the Weasley matron had looked at Annabel from over a cup of tea, and asked gently _do you want me to tell Jaime you are asking after her?_ or _I am sure Jaime would love to meet you for lunch at the Burrow._

And every time she asked, Annabel opened her mouth, meaning to say _Please do, I would love to talk to her_ and instead _It is alright, do not tell her_ or _no, thank you for offering though Molly_ would come out instead.

Molly would lay a hand over hers and squeeze it, and reassure her that if she ever changed her mind, to just send her an owl.

Most recently, Molly told her that Jaime had left magical Britain, the memories too much, and was now traveling with Luna Lovegood. Molly had been the one to suggest a letter, easier than speaking face to face, and Annabel had found herself nodding in agreement. 

And now, here she was, all these days later, still trying to find the words. There was so much that Annabel wanted to tell Jaime, and none of the words ever came close to what she wanted. 

She had started letter after letter and burned each one, staring at the ink on the parchment as it curled and blackened. She had sat at Cedric’s grave and traced the words on the tombstone, praying that he would send her the guidance she needed. 

Annabel wanted to tell Jaime how sorry she was that Jaime had to witness the death of Cedric, that she lived with the memory of it; she knew that she would not have been able to go on if she had been in Jaime’s shoes, if she had seen the curse hit Cedric and seen the life leave his eyes and _known_ that there was nothing she could have done to save him. 

She had wanted to tell Jaime that she hoped all was well, that she hoped the poor girl had found some peace after the Final Battle. She wanted to tell Jaime that she could not blame herself for what happened, even if others did. It was too heavy a weight to carry, and not a weight that she should have to bear. 

She wanted to tell Jaime that she was selfishly so, _so_ thankful that Cedric had not been alone at the end. That he had been with someone he loved when it happened. That she was thankful that Jaime had brought their son back, so that he could be laid to rest on family lands, where he was loved and protected. She wanted to thank Jaime for sparing her the agony of having to visit an empty grave. 

She wanted to tell Jaime thank you for loving her son, for giving him the happiest months of his all-too-short life. She wanted to tell her how Cedric had written home, gushing about his young girlfriend, asking for her advice of how to show affection without startling the poor girl with the intensity, about what to do for dates and how to ask her to the Yule Ball. 

She wished she had told her how Cedric had been in a tizzy for weeks thinking that someone else was going to ask her and he would have to see her dance and smile with someone else, had been all but tearing his hair out at the knowledge that they had not made things official. She wished she had told Jaime that Cedric had sent an actual _Howler_ home, screaming his joy for his amused parents that _Jaime said yes!_

She wished she had told Jaime how beautiful, how happy she had looked in the photographs with Cedric at the ball. 

She wished she could tell Jaime that she was selfishly glad she was not the only one - besides Amos, of course - that missed Cedric desperately. She wished she could invite the younger girl back to the Diggory Homestead and show her photograph after photograph, tell her story after story, anything, to make it feel like her son was not just another name on the casualty list of the war, that he was missed, that he had been _loved._

But the words never sounded right on paper, and the regret and grief would choke her and her tears would stain the parchment, and it would all just become fuel for the fireplace. 

And so she continued to sit alone in the silence, wishing she had the strength to scream.

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**_Vratsa, Bulgaria_**  
**_Krum Krepost_**  
**_July 18th_**

Hermione stretched, letting her muscles in her back pull as she contorted herself. Her spine popped, as did her hips, before she relaxed and let her body flop back against the pillows and sheets in a haphazard mess. 

She was alone in the bed; a quick Tempus charm told her that she had slept in, for it was almost noon. 

Groaning, she hauled herself into a sitting position, sheet held to her chest, looking around for her clothes. 

“Looking for this?”

She turned to the doorway, where Viktor was leaning against the threshold. He was wearing nothing but a dressing gown tied loosely around his waist and a wry smile. His skin and hair was damp, as if he had just gotten out of the shower. His hair was longer than it had ever been before, brushing his shoulders whenever he turned his head. 

In his hand was the shirt she had worn to bed; it was one of his, one that did not fit him anymore with the new werewolf muscle he had gained. It was still like a dress on her, and she had taken to wearing it to sleep, even if he did peel it off her more often than not. 

“Yes,” Hermione teased, standing up without shame and walking over to him, taking the shirt from his hand and slowly pulling it over her head, freeing her hair from the collar once it was settled. 

His eyes were dark with desire, and as soon as she was done pulling on the shirt, he leaned down and pressed a hard kiss to her lips, before dropping another kiss on her forehead and wrapping his arms around her so she was pressed firmly to his chest. 

“How long have you been awake?” She asked, fiddling with the edges of the crimson dressing gown he wore. 

Viktor shrugged, sliding a hand underneath the hem of the borrowed shirt to touch her, skin against skin. 

“Long enough to run and shower,” he replied. 

Hermione rolled her eyes. 

By that, he meant that he had been up for at least three hours. His morning runs often lasted for close to an hour and a half as he ran all throughout the woods. It got worse the closer to the full moon when he had so much energy building up underneath his skin. Add in at least an hour for him to eat something, read the morning paper, and stretch plus a half hour for him to luxuriate in the shower, he had been up for a long time. 

The lands surrounding Krum Krepost were vast, stretching on for acres and acres. “Krepost” was an accurate name. Viktor had explained to her the “Krepost” was Bulgarian for “Fortress,” and the Ancestral Home was certainly that. A large castle built high into the Balkan mountains, it was an old seat of power that was protected by some of the strongest blood wards she had ever seen or felt. 

The castle was made out of stone thicker than any she had seen before, built that way to keep out the cold winters. Four floors not including literal _dungeons,_ several towers, and the kind of entrance hall that belonged in a fairytale.

The lands surrounding the castle certainly meant that not a single neighbor would ever be able to make it to the castle on foot inside six hours, let alone if they made it past the wards. 

It was one of the first places she had ever felt truly safe after the war.

Of course, having Viktor nearby would always make her feel safer, no matter what their surroundings were.

“Don’t roll eyes at me,” Viktor mockingly ordered.

“Oh, so sorry,” she teased, before pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth and pulling back out of the circle of his arms. He playfully whined low in his throat, but she lifted a hand and pointed a joking finger in his face. 

“Oh no, wipe that look off your face mister,” she said sternly, “I am hungry, and I know from the look on your face that if you have it your way, we are going to end up right back in that bed for at least three more hours.” 

“You say it like bad thing,” Viktor waggled his eyebrows in an overly flirtatious way. 

“Food first!” Hermione commanded, grabbing a pair of muggle leggings off of the chair in the corner of the room, pulling them on underneath her sleep shirt. 

She ignored Viktor’s teasing pout and found a hair tie, pulling the top half of her hair away from her face, tying it into a haphazard bun before she grabbed his hand and dragged him with her down to the kitchens. 

Although there were two house elves that worked for the Krum family - Viktor had long ago explained to her how with a family that treated them well, house elves thrived on taking care of people and their magic was often tied to the family, much to her initial indignant anger on their behalf - Dilly and Paby, Hermione often preferred to make her own breakfast. She compromised with Dilly, the head house elf, who let her do some things on her own, but would always swoop in and do little things here and there to help her. 

Dilly was cleaning the kitchen dishes when they walked in, humming lightly to herself. 

“Mistress!” Dilly exclaimed, “You has awakened!” 

“It vas a bit of lazy morning for her,” Viktor replied, and Hermione slapped him lightly with the back of her hand before crossing to the stove to put the kettle on to boil. 

“That is alright, Mistress,” Dilly comforted, snapping her fingers and sending the washed and dried plates back up to the cupboards where they belonged, “It is always good to has a lie-in. Good for soul.” 

“See, Dilly knows!” Hermione called over her shoulder. 

“A kifla, Mistress?” Dilly offered, crossing the room to the plate that was sitting underneath a clear cover. 

“Oh, _yes!_ Thank you, Dilly,” Hermione accepted the pastry, taking a large bite of the dense roll filled with chocolate that had quickly become one of her favorite things to eat in Bulgaria. 

And just like that, Hermione luxuriated in the ease of the morning, in the comfort and love she found herself surrounded by. 

As she handed Viktor a cup of tea, she smiled and found herself thinking of Jaime and Ron. 

She hoped that the both of them had found a place like she had where she felt safe and normal, and if not that, she hoped that they had found some kind of peace.

She took a long sip of tea, leaning closer to Viktor’s side, and let her eyes fall closed in contentment.

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****_Paris, France_**  
**_July 19th_** **

****

Theo followed Blaise through the open door, wrinkling his nose at the smell of alcohol lingering heavy in the air. 

Blaise sighed heavily, before taking out his wand and casting some cleaning spells as he walked through the neglected front room, opening the windows and pulling back the curtains to let some light and fresh air in. 

Together, the two boys walked down the short hall and stood outside the bedroom door, summoning the courage to face what was within. They opened it and turned on the lights in one quick motion. 

Draco groaned where he was buried underneath a mound of blankets, wrapped up so tightly it was as if he were in a cocoon. He freed his head just enough to peer out and see who had disturbed his sleep. From the look on his face, he was _not_ happy to see anyone, not even his closest friends. 

“Bugger _off_ you two,” he snarled, turning away from them and trying to hide from the light, burrowing back down into the mattress. 

“No,” Blaise said flatly, before walking over to the window and throwing it open, the fresh air rushing in and helping to banish the stale smell of sweat and alcohol. In the distance, he could see the Eiffel Tower. With the window open, he could hear the general hum of the Muggles walking on the streets below. 

Theo stood at the foot of the bed, hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. His posture was relaxed, but Blaise knew that Theo could - and would - snap into action at a moment’s notice.

“Do _not_ make me resort to desperate measures, Draco, you will not like them at all,” Theo threatened, watching as the lump of blankets that was one of his best friends staunchly refused to move. 

When Draco did not speak again, the two sighed, resigned to what they must.

“Do it,” Blaise ordered, and Theo took out his wand, pointing it almost lazily at Draco. 

_“Aguamenti frigus,”_ he cast, and the stream of ice cold water shot forward, soaking through the blankets at full speed, drenching Draco in a matter of seconds. 

Draco cursed loudly, rolling in a desperate attempt to get away from the water, only to roll right off the side of the bed and slam harshly into the floor, tangled in the now-wet blankets. 

“Fuck the _both_ of you,” Draco snarled, fighting his way free of the drenched blankets. He stumbled to his feet, hair a disarray. He was wearing nothing but his pants, and they were sticking to his upper thighs now that they were wet. 

He had lost a lot of weight; although always naturally lean, Draco had never looked this gaunt before. Blaise had been able to see the indentations between each of his ribs. 

He had barely managed to hide the wince when he saw his friend’s bare back. 

The whip scars stood out in harsh relief against Draco’s pale skin; the lashes closest to the middle of his back were a stark, brutal red where they were layered over each other, deep and twisted. The ones closest to his sides were a paler red, almost pink, but it would be many years before they faded to white, if they ever did. 

It was a permanent reminder of the war, a brutal one that Draco would have to carry forever along with the faded Dark Mark.

“Draco, come on, this is not healthy,” Theo pleaded. It was only because the three of them were so close that he even allowed himself to show concern for his friend. 

Draco did not answer, instead stalked to the closet and yanked it open, grabbing a plain green shirt from the hanger and pulled it on with harsh, angry movements. 

“When was the last time you had a shower?” Blaise asked, wrinkling his nose and crossing his arms as he stared down his friend.

“Or a drink that was not alcoholic or a hangover potion?” Theo added.

Draco continued to be silent, grabbing some muggle jeans off the floor next, pulling them on over his underwear, belting it tightly around his hips. 

“I’m assuming it was more than three weeks ago?” 

Draco stilled, frozen like a deer facing down a wolf. 

Theo sighed. 

“Draco…just contact her.” 

Draco did not turn to look at his friend, nor did he move a single inch from how he had frozen. He kept his gaze firmly on the wall, and bit out through gritted teeth, “Theo, for the love of Merlin…just… _stop talking.”_

Draco’s voice sounded brittle, as if one more well-spoken sentence would make him shatter completely. 

“She wouldn’t want-“

Draco whirled around to Blaise, his face twisted in anger, gray eyes pained. 

“I _know_ she would not want me to be like this, but guess what?! I _fucking am,_ and she’s _not here,_ she _left,_ so she does not get a _goddamn say!”_

His words seemed to echo throughout the room, ringing in their ears for long after he was done speaking. 

Slowly, Draco’s expression relaxed somewhat, and they could see the ice walls, the careful “Pureblood Scion” facade that he put up as effortlessly as breathing, just like he did at school. And in a matter of seconds, Blaise and Theo were not looking at their best friend, they were looking at Malfoy, the Slytherin Prince.

“What did you two come here for?” Draco asked coldly, as if he were bored with their company and was simply tolerating them for courtesy's sake.

Blaise did not let the cold tone of voice faze him, instead blithely responding, “Aside from making sure you did not aspirate on your on vomit? To warn you that you have about fifteen minutes to make yourself look less like death warmed over because your aunt and cousin are coming for a surprise visit.” 

For a split second, Draco looked between them uncomprehendingly, before he paled even more - if that was even possible - and his cold expression turned into something resembling sheer terror. 

_“Fuck!”_ Draco exclaimed, immediately sprinting for the bathroom, pulling the shirt back off over his head as he went.

Theo had to laugh a little bit at that. 

Andromeda Tonks and Narcissa Malfoy were the only two women besides Jaime Potter that could make Draco react like that.

“We should probably help the prat,” Blaise sighed, pushing away from the window and heading to the front room of the flat. 

Aside from empty firewhisky bottles, as well as muggle scotch, the front room was pretty clean. Theo vanished the bottles while Blaise cast a few more cleaning charms. The kitchen was clean, clearly never used to cook. The fridge was empty except for a few cartons of leftover takeaway. Another quick charm to banish the dust gathering on the counters, and it was presentable. 

The two lounged in the front room, feet propped up on the table as they waited for Draco to make an appearance.

He came sprinting out of the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind him to hide the mess. His hair was plastered to his head, some parts sticking straight up, but he looked more human that he did before. There was nothing to be done about the bags under his eyes or the way the whites of his eyes were bloodshot, but he was now dressed in simple black trousers and a button up shirt, so he looked less like he had just rolled right out of bed. 

“You owe us,” Theo called, and Draco made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. 

“I know, I know,” he snapped, before heading to the kitchen and pulling open a cupboard, bringing out a tea set that must have been left there by his mother, and a box of loose tea leaves. With jerky, impatient motions, he charmed a tea kettle to start going, measuring out the appropriate amount of leaves and dumping them into the pot. 

He had the tea ready at the right moment, because just as he had poured the hot water in to steep with the leaves, the floo roared to life, and out stepped Andromeda. 

She was dressed impeccably in a long black dress, not a single hair out of place. She managed to look regal and poised even as Teddy giggled in her arms. 

“Ah, hello Blaise, hello Theo. I take it you are the ones to thank for making it look like my nephew is a functioning adult?” 

Theo cracked a smile at that. 

“Madame Tonks, it is lovely to see you as always. We wanted to make sure that he was…presentable.” 

Andromeda let out an unladylike snort. 

“Well, thank you for that,” she said in a subtle dismissal. Without a word, Theo and Blaise hurried for the floo, not even looking back at the betrayed look that Draco was throwing their way. 

Andromeda breezed into the kitchen, casting a critical eye around. Draco was standing leaning against the fridge, shoulders hunched slightly, as his aunt inspected his apartment. 

“Come now Draco, we shall have this tea in the front room.” 

They settled into the front room, and just as Draco placed the tea pot and cups down on the table, Andromeda leaned over and dropped the toddler she was carrying right into his lap. 

Startled, he just barely managed to grab a hold of Teddy before the little one tumbled right off his lap and onto the ground. 

Andromeda did not spare him another look, instead focused on adding a few cubes of sugar to her tea and mixing it well. 

Teddy stared up at the blond teenager that was holding him gingerly, as if he was a dangerous animal, and grinned widely. Without a word, his hair changed to match Draco’s pale blond, features changing slightly to match. Draco found himself looking at a toddler version of himself, and it was a strange feeling. 

Andromeda turned back to Draco, taking a long sip of her tea. 

They sat in silence for a long moment, and she examined him critically. 

Eyes bloodshot, dark bruises underneath telling her all she needed to know about his sleeping schedule. He had clearly lost weight; he had never been this slight before, even during the war. His hair was in a disarray, and was long overdue for a trim. His clothing, while clean, was a bit wrinkled. For someone of their background and training, this was tantamount to him streaking starkers through a garden party. 

He was not doing well, she knew. And she had to step in before her idiot nephew reached a point of no return.

Andromeda sighed and decided to just get with it. This was a conversation that was going to be unpleasant no matter how many sugar-coated topics she tried to start with to ease the way, so might as well do away with them entirely. 

“I am the one that told Jaime that she should leave Magical Britain to heal,” Andromenda explained calmly, “And when she expressed her worry of leaving, I reassured her that we could handle it, that you were helping with the rebuilding efforts as well. I did not think that I would come to find my only nephew drowning himself in alcohol instead."

Draco had to restrian himself from yelling at his once-estranged aunt. He sucked in a deep, harsh breath through his nose, trying to hold onto his composure. He had to keep himself from standing up and shoving Teddy back into her arms, had to keep himself from standing up and cursing. 

Draco did not make a habit of letting himself live in denial; being aware and pragmatic was how you survived in Slytherin. It was legitimately a den of snakes; you protected your own, and there was a loyalty to the house as a whole, but you had to always be aware of those looking for an edge over you. 

Even though he knew he had a flare for the dramatic - _“A_ flare?” _Blaise would raise an single, sardonic eyebrow, “Need I remind you of our third year?”_ \- he was also realistic, and very self-aware.

He knew that what he and Jaime had shared was something that was not healthy, on either side. It was born out of war, and it was not built to withstand peace. 

They were two sides of the same coin, the exact same role born on opposite sides of the war.

She had been the savior, the “Chosen One” that was going to save them all. She was the sacrificial lamb, the martyr, the hero. She was pure and _good_ and light personified, everything worth saving in the world. She was deserving of love and goodness and _warmth._

He was the “Slytherin Prince,” born to be the “Pureblood Scion,” the one to subjugate other “lesser” members of their world. He was born in the dark and he had been happy with what he thought his role entailed, until he had seen the horrors he was expected to commit 

Their relationship - if you could ever call it that - was born out of desperation. Two lost souls, searching for the absolute wrong things and finding them in each other.

She had been looking for love, for something that could make her feel less alone. She wanted someone to _stay,_ wanted someone to be a comfort when the pressure of the war became too much. 

He had been looking for redemption, for the validation that he was not entirely lost to the dark. He had tried to convince himself that because she, the epitome of the light, cared for him, he was worthy of being saved, of being redeemed. 

They could not depend on each other; he knew that. He knew that they would never be able to be sustainable, that their relationship was barely that. 

It didn’t make him stop wanting her; he was a red-blooded male, thank you very much, and he _missed_ her. He missed the sex, and he missed not feeling alone and lost, and he missed her friendship.

He didn’t love Jaime; he didn’t even know if he was capable of or worthy of love, not after all he had done. She did not love him, not like she had loved Diggory, and not like she would love someone else in the future.

Maybe in another world, another universe, where they were not predestined to be the “Chosen One” for opposite sides of a war, they could have been in love. In that world, maybe they would have been happy together.

But not here; not in this world. 

Still, knowing it intellectually did not stop the hurt of being left behind without so much as a goodbye. 

~~_He had been left behind, abandoned like the Death Eater scum he was-_ ~~

“Do not think just because she left means that you mean nothing to her,” Andromeda continued, not pulling any punches with her words even as she saw Draco flinch. “You know her better than that. And she would be absolutely horrified to see you like this.” 

“I know,” Draco snapped, before he sucked in a shaky breath and said with a little bit more composure, “I know she would be.” 

“Do you love her?” Andromeda asked bluntly, taking another sip of her tea. 

Draco did not look at her; instead, he kept his gaze on Teddy in his lap, who was playing with the buttons on the front of his shirt like they were the most fascinating toy in existence. 

“I miss her,” Draco deflected. 

“But do you love her?” Andromeda pressed, needing to hear the answer before she decided how best to approach the problem. 

“Not the kind of love she deserves,” Draco finally answered. 

Andromeda’s look was searching, and she could feel herself softening, become more of the aunt she was than the matriarch she needed to be to guide her lost nephew. 

“Not the kind of love that is healthy for you, either,” Andromeda added, her eyes sharp and all-seeing. Draco had to remind himself that while she had left her family and all it entailed to marry a Hufflepuff, she was every inch a woman who had been raised a Black, and she saw to the core of everything, even the things people wished to hide. 

_Especially_ the things people wished to hide.

“She is not the saint you think she is, and you do to her what everyone else does when you think of her that way,” Andromeda scolded gently, “You might have once been her lover, but you are her friend more so. And you do her a great disservice by thinking of her as an untouchable paragon of light. She is not one-dimensional,” she continued. 

Draco flinched with each sentence like she had hit him. She hated forcing this issue on him, but she needed Draco Malfoy, the pureblood scion. 

Oh, not to rebuild the corrupt system that had been in place, but instead, to see to the quick of the matter like she did. He received the same training she had, how to look beyond the facades people put up to what their true ambitions were. And if she was going to turn this into a world good enough for her grandson, she would need help. 

She needed her nephew to _snap out of it._

“You need to collect yourself,” Andromeda continued, finishing the rest of her tea in one long sip before putting the cup daintily back down on the table, “and continue on. When and if Jaime returns, she is going to expect that the whole system did not just fall back into the same old tricks. And while the world might be overflowing with goodwill now,” and here Andromeda’s own pragmatic side was showing, the part of her that was not lulled into a false sense of security by the euphoria of the war ending, “you and I both know that the cockroaches will soon be crawling out of the woodwork. So we have work to do, nephew, if we are going to change the world.” 

.  
.  
.  
.

******_Ottery St. Catchpole_**  
_**Devon, England**_  
_**The Burrow**_

Ginny groaned as she straightened, her back muscles protesting after so long of being bent over. 

The garden was one place where her mother insisted on no magic. So, she had been sent out to weed the patch of vegetables and herbs by hand, and now her back was making its protests known. Her hair was sticking to her forehead with sweat, and the knees of her tattered jeans were stained with mud and grass. 

Her father was super busy with his new job as Head of the Department of Muggle Relations, a promotion that been long-overdue. With the complete overhaul of the government and the removal of all those Pureblood Elitists who had been in power, her father was finally getting the recognition and job title - and pay - that he deserved.

Ginny was trying all she could to help her mother during this time. With Fred still recovering from the injuries he had sustained in the Final Battle - having a wall collapse on you cause injuries that even magic took time to heal, broken bones and muscles that had to be retrained after extensive damage - and all of them slowly leaving home, her mother was struggling with it.

They were all also struggling with the death of Percy. 

Percy had been a prat, of course, and he had deeply hurt the entire family by turning his back on them, but he had still been their _brother._ He had come home to them when it mattered, had stammered out an awkward apology to his father and been smothered in a hug by their mother, and then he was gone less than twenty minutes later. 

He had been the one to throw himself on top of Fred when the wall came down. 

Fred was still injured severely, his spine broken in several places, almost every bone in his body fractured…Percy had not stood a chance. Even though he had been a few inches shorter than Fred, Percy had tucked his brother down underneath him, took the brunt of the force, shielded Fred’s head and neck as best he could.

Percy had died saving his little brother.

And they had been forced to bury one of their own.

Fred struggled with the guilt of it, knowing that he was alive only because Percy had sacrificed himself. And it was hard for them all to come to terms with their anger at their prodigal brother alongside the grief of losing him. 

Still, the Weasley clan pushed forward. 

Bill and Fleur were back in Shell Cottage, and back working for Gringotts. She and Fleur often would meet up for lunch, and the French girl’s English was growing better by leaps and bounds. 

Now that she had matured a bit, Ginny admitted to herself that a lot of why she had hated Fleur in the beginning had been jealousy. Looking back now, she actually greatly admired her for all that she had done, endured, and how she had kept her head held high while doing it. 

Fleur and Jaime had become good friends during the Tournament, and the part of her that still had that crush on Jaime at the time was angry and jealous about it.

Fleur had been beautiful and talented and smart; she became a curse-breaker for Gringotts, and she had been chosen to compete in the Tri-Wizard tournament, she was no idiot. 

Once she had gotten over it, the two had become quick friends, and Ginny had to admit that it was nice to be close to her sister-in-law. She felt like she had a friend, someone who was firmly in her corner. 

In a family full of boys, the girls had to stick together. 

Also, watching Fleur physically punch the shit out of a handsy wizard that grabbed her arse in Diagon Alley one afternoon was a sight that had bought her an obscene amount of joy. 

Charlie had gone back to Romania, back to training dragons and living the adventurous lifestyle that periodically gave their mother heart palpitations.

Ron was off being a “kept man” with Pansy Parkinson - and _that_ was a combination that took a few months to get used to - in Italy with Posy.

What had been even more shocking was how quickly Molly had taken to Pansy. Posy, Pansy’s absolutely adorable little sister, had something to do with that. Molly had a respect for Pansy for leaving behind everything she knew and was raised with for the sake of her little sister. And knowing what she did about what Pansy had endured, Molly was more than a little bit protective over the girl that would eventually become another daughter-in-law.

Ginny had not had much of a change to know Pansy, but she appreciated how being in a relationship with the Slytherin girl had changed - and _matured_ \- her brother. 

Ginny had decided not to go back to Hogwarts for a repeat of her seventh year; instead, she was studying for her exams at home, working in the twin’s shop as an extra pair of hands - and actually getting paid for it - training with the Holyhead Harpies for the next season, and applying for an apprenticeship under a Charms master for the future. 

She still met up with her friends whenever she could, all of them clinging a little bit tighter to each other as they mourned those that they had lost. 

Neville had decided to go back to Hogwarts for his repeated seventh year. Last time she had gotten lunch with him in Hogsmeade, he had been dating Hannah Abbot and had decided to take an apprenticeship for a mastery in Herbology under Professor Sprout. He had been happy, coming into his own, confidence bringing him into his own. 

Seamus and Dean were living together in Diagon Alley. Seamus had put his skill in pyrotechnics to work, working as a supplier for fireworks for Fred and George’s shop. Dean’s artistic skills were in high demand, for everything from memorial murals to magical family portraiture and children’s books. Their flat was super nice, and the three of them had gotten drunk together more times than she would ever admit. 

She had thought it would be weird hanging out with them, knowing her history with Dean, but it wasn’t. 

Dean and Seamus had tried to pretend that they were simply friends that were roommates, but she called them out on _that_ bullshit immediately. 

“I was half in-love with Jaime for the first three years I knew her, you may be able to fool others but you can’t fool me,” she had teased drunkenly the night it had come up, “I demand to be a best-woman for one of you when you get married. Wait! Dean! Did you ever do to Seamus that thing with your tongue-“

Dean had immediately clasped a hand over her mouth, hissing furiously under his breath, even as Seamus threw back his head and roared with laughter, face flushed from the fire whisky they had been drinking.

Things were…getting better. It certainly was not how she had expected things to go, but she was simply content that she had lived through the war in one piece, that they had not lost more than they could have. 

It was harder on some days, when it seemed like all the anger she had carried at the world during the war bubbled up under her skin, making her itch for a fight. 

She was managing though, and she was happy with how things were going. 

Ginny didn’t know if it was simply an effect of the trauma, or if she was just so used to waiting for the other shoe to drop, but she still found herself tensed for a fight, ready to cast curses and bolt at a moment’s notice. 

Maybe she needed a vacation…perhaps Jaime had the right idea of leaving magical Britain. 

Casting a look back at the Burrow, at the smoke rising from the chimney, at the peace that had finally settled over their home, she decided that once everything stabilized more, once Fred was back home and her mother stopped looking so fragile throughout the day…she would send a letter to Luna and Jaime and see if they would care for some company on their adventures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated a day early as an apology for a missed week last time! This started off small and then ballooned to close to ten thousand words. I. am. so. tired. 
> 
> I hope you like this little insight though! I can promise that everyone mentioned in this chapter are going to show up again later, and I hope you enjoyed the stories and changes I have made to canon (including the faceclaim changes, sorry bout those). I am keeping Scarlett Byrne as Pansy, and ironically enough, she is actually a character on the Vampire Diaries now!
> 
> Thank you all so, so much for your kudos, subscriptions, and your comments! Please keep them coming, I live off of your feedback. Let me know what you want to see in this story, or your theories of what might happen!! 
> 
> Also, side question: how would you feel about a prequel story about Cedric/Jaime's relationship? It would essentially be a rewrite of Goblet of Fire, with my own twists here and there. I have been hinting to parts of it, and you have seen a scene of their first kiss and the insight of Annabel, but I wonder if you guys would like a full fledged story? Let me know!
> 
> See you next week for chapter six, where we are back in Mystic Falls, and, quote, "eight vampires, four of whom were Original vampires, three humans, one retired hunter, and one Wiccan witch" are sitting in Jaime and Luna's front room for a very, very interesting conversation :D


	6. six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were eight vampires, four of whom were Original vampires, three humans, one retired hunter, and one Wiccan witch sitting in her front living room, all glaring at each other, in stony silence as they waited for the others to crack. 
> 
> _When did my life become a bad joke?_ Jaime groaned to herself.

_**Mystic Falls  
July 18th** _

Elijah was not at all surprised when the door was opened and Jaime and Luna were standing on the other side of it. 

“Ladies,” he inclined his head, “I must say that while this is news, it is not much of a surprise.” 

Luna looked cheerful, but Jaime’s face was twisted in annoyance. 

Elijah was certain that his brother was at least eighty percent responsible for that. 

“Elijah, come in,” Luna inclined her head, stepping back and giving him room to step over the threshold. 

Klaus was leaning against the wall in the front room, and Elijah knew immediately that this was going to become an uncomfortable discussion. 

Damon and Stefan Salvatore were flanking Elena Gilbert on one of the couches, the three of them creating a vast array of expressions. Damon looked bored, Elena looked fearful but trying to hide it, and Stefan looked as though he had sucked on something intensely sour. 

Caroline Forbes was sitting at the built-in bar by the window on a tall stool, impeccably put together as always. She looked up from her phone when Elijah walked in, gave him a small, tense smile, before looking back down. 

“Charlotte, Rebekah and Kol are on their way,” Elijah announced simply, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall besides his brother. 

“Wow, it’s a right bloody, fucking party in our house today,” Jaime whispered harshly under her breath, making a beeline to the bar and taking out a bottle of alcohol that Elijah did not recognize. He was a little bit alarmed when it seemed to _smoke_ as she poured it into the glass, but she threw it back like it was nothing. 

“Guess the day drinking is continuing,” Stefan snarked from the couch. 

Jaime smiled nastily at him. 

“Fancy hanging from your ankles in the air for the entirety of this conversation? No? Then _be quiet.”_

Luna appeared next to Elijah with almost soundless grace; even with his enhanced hearing, he was hard-pressed to hear her approach. 

“It has been a difficult day,” Luna apologetically explained her friend’s barbed words. 

“I can only imagine,” Elijah responded, casting a look at Klaus out of the corner of his eye. 

“We are also waiting on Bonnie, Jeremy, Matt, and Alaric,” Caroline said to Jaime, trying to sneakily pull the bottle of alcohol away from Jaime, who was too busy cataloging everyone sitting silently in her living room to give much notice. 

Thankfully, it was a blessedly short time before he could see Rebekah’s car pull into the driveway, Charlotte and Kol climbing out as well. At a prim knock on the door, Luna skipped away to invite them in. 

“Well, this is suitably uncomfortable,” Kol announced cheerfully as he walked in, immediately spotting Jaime at the bar taking the bottle back from Caroline. His face lit up with delight. 

“Oh, my kind of woman,” he crowed, using vampire speed to cross over to her. 

Jaime didn’t even flinch at the show of speed, instead clutched the bottle in one hand, holding her free hand up in front to stop him. 

“Ah! Nope, this is firewhisky, and I only have a few bottles of it. Special occasions only, and by special occasions, I mean when I am about to curse everyone in sight.” 

“Aw, come on love,” Kol cajoled, intrigue lighting up his face. 

Jaime narrowed her gaze, before she smirked and placed the bottle down slowly on the bar. With her freed hand, she flicked her wrist and her wand shot down into her hand from the holster. 

_“Accio,”_ a glass came zipping through the air from the kitchen, shocked inhales following as they watched it fly into her hand.

She placed it onto the counter, tapped it with her wand, and the glass shrunk until it was slightly bigger than a thimble. She waved her wand again, and a small bubble of the alcohol floated through the air from the bottle, before dropping with a _plop_ into the glass, a small tendril of smoke curling up from the surface.

“Knock yourself out. Be warned, it is magical firewhisky, so I take no responsibility for what might happen if you drink it.” 

Kol gleefully picked up the tiny glass between two fingers, bragging, “Sweetheart, I can take any kind of alcohol you throw at me,” and threw back the small drop. 

Immediately, he began coughing, literal smoke billowing out of his mouth and nose as if he were a dragon. It took a few minutes for him to gather his composure, and his eyes were watering fiercely when he turned back to look at a smirking Jaime. 

“Bloody fantastic, that is,” Kol choked out, coughing a bit more, “how about another?” 

.  
.  
.  
.

There were eight vampires, four of whom were Original vampires, three humans, one retired hunter, and one Wiccan witch sitting in her front living room, all glaring at each other, in stony silence as they waited for the others to crack. 

_When did my life become a bad joke?_ Jaime groaned to herself. 

“If you all do not stop this childish silence treatment of each other, I am banishing each and every one of you out of my house. Start talking,” Jaime snapped, finally having enough. 

She wanted answers; she wanted to know what it was about this town that attracted the supernatural, what the relationship between all of them was, if there was any threat to her and Luna, and what the _hell_ Klaus had been talking about when he spoke of his father and whoever-the-hell Katerina was. 

Klaus shot her a look, but she just glared right back. 

“Why don’t you start, love? Tell us why the Chosen One is in America,” he challenged. 

Elijah’s eyes flashed. 

“The Chosen One? Harriet Potter?” 

Damon raised an eyebrow incredulously. 

“‘The Chosen One?’ What kind of nickname is that?” 

“An annoying one,” Jaime deadpanned. 

“You said your name was Jaime?” Elijah questioned. 

“My first name is Harriet. Jaime is a nickname.” 

Short, sufficient answer that just make Klaus more curious. 

“We heard tell of the war in your world, but we steered clear. Your lot is a secretive race, more so than the other witches I have encountered.” 

Bonnie, the pretty dark-skinned girl who had walked in with the other humans, leaned forward enthusiastically. 

Jaime had immediately been able to sense the magic within her; it was not the bright, colorful aura that Luna had taught her to see among others in their world. Bonnie’s magic had a bite to it, and it did not come within. It seemed to stem from all around, coalescing within her.

“You are witches? But what…I do not recognize any of the spells you did, and I do not need a wand or anything like that to cast them.” 

Luna chimed in, “We are not like you,” she explained, “we do not channel magic from the earth and nature, we possesses a magical core. Our powers are our own. The wand helps us channel, but some exceptionally talented witches and wizards are able to cast wandlessly. From what we had learned in school about your kind, we are a bit more free in our powers, simply because there is not the snap-back of nature’s power.” 

Luna did not mention that wandless magic was a skill that many of them had picked up during the war through sheer necessity; being disarmed had been a death sentence, and the ability to throw up a shield charm was often the difference between living and dying painfully.

Bonnie looked wistful. 

“You had magical schooling?” 

“Yes. Potions, magical creatures, runes, charms, defensive spells, we learned it all.” 

“Potions? Like with cauldrons?” 

“Magical creatures?” 

The others chimed in with expressions of disbelief. 

“Oh yes, there are hundreds of magical creatures throughout the world,” Luna cheerfully explained, and Jaime gently cut her friend off before she could go on and on about all the creatures she had discovered with her father during holidays, or the ones they had seen and learned about at school. 

“So like, mermaids and unicorns and all of them…they’re real?” Caroline looked disbelieving, but there was a hint of hope in her expression, a tiny bit of wonder. 

Jaime felt a small rush of affection for the one vampire in the room she knew; Caroline was the sweetest, and Jaime hoped that one day she might be able to show Caroline a little bit more magic. The blond had not needed to be as friendly as she had been, but she had welcomed them anyway and Jaime would not forget that. 

“Yes, but mermaids are vicious creatures that would drown you in a moment if you trespassed on their territory, and unicorns tend to be reclusive. They prefer women, of course, but there was a herd of them in the forest near our school, and a coven of mermaids in the lake on our school grounds” Jaime continued, thinking back wryly to the second task and how it felt to go through the mermaid village to find Ron.

She was vividly reminded of how Cedric had jokingly spiraled in ever-tighter circles in front of her in the water, making overly-contorted faces at her through his Bubble-Headed charm. She had rolled his eyes at him even as she laughed through her gills, and waved him ahead when he had grabbed Cho Chang, one of his best friends, and rocketed to the surface ahead of her.

She turned back to the conversation, pushing the memories back down into a tiny box in the back of her mind, determined not to think about them. The dream this morning had cracked it open, and she did not have the time or the emotional capacity right not to revisit any of them. 

“Anyway,” here she gently cut off Luna (again) who was going on and on about other magical creatures, shooting her friend an apologetic look, before turning to Elijah and Klaus, “we did not know this town was an epicenter for supernatural creatures, let alone the Original Family.” 

Here, Elijah’s interest was piqued. 

“You know about us?” He asked mildly. 

“Tales of you come to us as well,” Jaime hedged, “and you are not the only kind of vampires in the world. There are other covens, other strains of the virus, that we have encountered and allied with occasionally in Eastern Europe.” 

“The Corvinus vampires?” Kol questioned from where he was sprawled like a starfish over one of the armchairs, looking like he was relaxed, but she was sure that he could jump into action in less than a fraction of a second. “I have run into a few of them, the lycans and the vampires both. Tell me, is it still Viktor's time in power? I have not checked in with them in a while.” 

It was a test of knowledge. 

Jaime shrugged, before throwing out, “Viktor was long dead by the time I met any of them face-to-face. I met them after the fall of the Original Elders. I do not know if Selene is still the new Elder in power, the last I knew of their politics, she and her mate were training their children to take over so they could take a break.” 

Kol’s eyes flashed with something, and she knew he had lied; he knew who was in power, and he wanted to gauge how much she knew. 

“Markus’ brother, William, was ravaging the country side in the very beginning of the thirteenth century. We were created in the eleventh century here in Mystic Falls,” Jaime made a mental note there that what Remus had known had been off, and they were in fact _older,_ "I did not encounter any of them until later in our years of being vampires in what is modern-day Hungary,” Kol explained to the room at large, a fond smile crossing his face, “I tried to seduce one of their head Death Dealers, Selene, when I met her in the 1500s. She is now a new Elder.” 

Jaime cast him a horrified expression, “And you _lived?”_

Selene was an intimidating woman. She was strong, one of the strongest soldiers, but cold and beautiful. She was someone who did not have time for bullshit, and she had a way of glaring that made you feel as though you were the scum of the earth. 

She was kind though, in her own way, and when Jaime had come to her to try and broker an alliance of some sort, she had been genuinely moved. She had been unable to commit a significant amount of forces, her coven still recovering from an internal civil war that had nearly exposed them all. 

Some had helped where they could; Jaime still occasionally thought fondly of David, one of the younger vampires who looked startlingly like Theo. 

Kol laughed, “She threatened to tie me up by my intestines, but I think she liked me just a little bit.” 

“While this sort of reminiscing is _fascinating,”_ drawled the only female Original, Rebekah as she had introduced herself, “Can we get back to the point? I have only met a handful of your kind, and from what I knew when I was last undaggered in the twenties, you were fighting a war against a fanatic named Grindelwald.” 

“Yes, and he was defeated. Decades after, another rose to power. His name was Tom Riddle, but the pretentious hypocrite called himself Lord Voldemort,” Jaime explained the war in as short a terms as she could: how he amassed followers, explaining the whole so-called “blood purity” he spouted and those who agreed with it in their world, how a prophecy had been born that there would be someone to defeat him, and it was either her or another, and he had chosen her. He had killed her parents, and then when he turned the wand on her - 

“The spell backfired somehow,” Jaime explained as calmly as she could, motioning to her forehead where her scar lay, “and he disappeared, and I became the only person in the history of our world to survive a Killing Curse with only this scar to mark me for the rest of my life. He tried to kill me several times since I was eleven, and then Riddle was resurrected from the half-alive maggot he had been before when I was fourteen. From then on, we had been at war. I killed him for good about ten months ago, and our world has been recovering ever since. Luna and I came to Mystic Falls for a holiday, and then stumbled into this mess, which I would like an explanation for, if you please.” 

Short, to the point, and so glaringly bare-boned it was ridiculous. The others in the room were looking at her like she had eighteen heads, but she stared past them to look determinedly to Elijah and Klaus, who did not look surprised or confused by her explanation, making her reassess if they actually knew more about her and her world than they were letting on.

Everyone in the room started speaking, telling the story about their own wars. They all interrupted each other, and she realized within a few seconds that they had been fighting - the Original Family and this so called “Scooby Gang” - for nearly the past year. 

Klaus was unapologetic in his explanation; he did not show much regret nor did he make any apologies for the lives he had taken, the threats he had made, nor anything that followed in the aftermath. The curse of his that he broken, creating a new Hybrid. 

Elena Gilbert explained how Klaus had been after her for her blood, how he had compelled Stefan to become a Ripper again, how he had done it to save his brother’s life. She had glared bitterly at the Original Family, laying the blame at their feet for how her life had been in upheaval for the past year. 

Then, the Original Witch, the mother of the Original Family. How she had been resurrected, how she had come back to a broken family; how she had lied, told them she wanted them to heal, only to broker a deal behind their backs with the help of another brother to kill them all. How Elena had given her blood for the spell, how they had barely made it out with their lives. The Sire Line they discovered could wipe out all vampires, a discovery that came with the death of their oldest brother, Finn.

Elijah explained in a detached voice that he had been the one to kill his mother, rip her heart out, to save his family. How there had been an awkward cease fire in the aftermath, until an old enemy, Katerina Petrova - the one Elena was a doppelgänger for - awakened their father, Mikael. How Mikael wanted to kill his children, and Klaus, who was not his biological son. 

They explained in bare terms what had happened in New Orleans, the family member they had thought they lost, how they had been driven out of the city by their father. How now it was the witches in New Orleans that had awakened their father in the hopes that he would annihilate all vampires.

There were definitely holes in the explanations - and she wondered how they had made so many alliances and then broken them again and again - but after a bit, she had a better idea of the dynamic that was occurring. More than anything, she knew that she would not be able to make judgements about which side was more trustworthy; all this explanation told her was that she needed to take everything they said with a grain of salt. 

“The point is, we are coming to you all to suggest an alliance against our father,” Elijah summed up. 

“Are you _fucking kidding_ me?!” Stefan burst out, anger and disbelief making his voice shoot up several octaves.

“You are out of your goddamn mind,” Jeremy Gilbert bit out from behind the couch where Elena sat, his hand on her shoulder protectively. 

The entirety of the Mystic Falls group were throwing out similar biting sentiments, but the Original Family did not react to it.

Elijah cut in smoothly, tone layered with equal parts indifference and frankness, “It does not matter what feelings you have towards my family and our past actions, for if our father succeeds in killing us, you will all die from the sire line.” 

Bonnie shot back, “Not if we find a way to break the sire line.” 

Elijah didn’t miss a beat. 

“Then you will still be left with our father who wants to eradicate all vampires, without the four strongest vampires in the world to help you.” 

“We have these two,” Damon commented offhandedly, motioning to Jaime and Luna. 

Jaime immediately shot Damon a glare. 

“Do not pull us into this,” Jaime snapped. She did not end one war to get dragged into another one, one that she was certainly not getting the full picture of.

“So the Chosen One, the so-called savior of the innocent, is going to sit back and let these murderous assholes walk the earth?” Damon shot back. 

“Speak for yourself, you bastard,” Rebekah snarled from across the room.

“I would be greatly surprised,” Luna’s voice cracked through the tensions mounting in the air, serene as always but with an edge of steel in it now, “If anyone in this room has hands completely free of blood.” 

Silence reigned in the room at that.

Jaime disagreed a bit; the blond bartender, Matt, seemed overwhelmed in the corner. She would be surprised if he had even hit anyone in his life in anger. 

Charlotte, who had been hiding half-behind Kol, spoke up hesitantly. Jaime almost flinched in surprise; the vampire had been so quiet for so long, she had almost forgotten she was there.

“I was a witch before I was turned,” Charlotte said to Bonnie, her voice apologetic, “And I know the limitations of magic. Just like all or nature must have a balance, the sire line is one of those laws that cannot be broken, not without severe repercussions. The ancestors would never allow the sire line to be broken, not with how they feel about vampires, not when it is a way to eradicate all of us,” she explained. 

Bonnie’s face soured, and that told Jaime that Charlotte’s explanation was probably accurate, and Bonnie had been bluffing.

Alaric - the retired hunter, who looked simultaneously world-weary and alert - stepped forward, hands raised in what she assumed was his attempt at a placating gesture. 

“What are you proposing?” Alaric asked Elijah. 

“Like I said, an alliance, or at least a temporary truce.” 

“Over my dead body,” Stefan snarled, jumping to his feet and glaring at the Originals across the room. 

“That can certainly be arranged,” Klaus said mildly, still relaxed and leaning against the wall, but his voice laden with threats. 

“Brother,” Elijah sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes in frustration. 

“What I was proposing was that you ally yourself with my family for right now, in this fight against Mikael. Once Mikael is dead, we can go back to fighting if you really desire it,” Elijah continued. 

“Why should we?” Elena questioned, voice impassive, “After everything your family has done to us? My aunt’s death, the constant hounding for my blood?”

“If you agree to this temporary alliance with my family,” Klaus said, his voice bored, “Then all I ask is for five bags of your human blood. After those five, you will never again have to worry about me coming for it, or threatening your family or any descendants you may have, you have my word on that.” 

Elena’s face was a picture of shock. 

Stefan jumped in, handsome features still twisted with anger, “How dare you ask us to fight your battles for you, after everything you have done, everything you have taken-“

Rebekah snapped, voice like the crack of a whip, “We cannot take something that you never had, Stefan. Do not blame my brother for your lack of control over your bloodlust, you had that long before we ever met you. Tell me, how many times have you had to detox yourself throughout history to be the pious, 'Saint Stefan' persona you hide behind?” Her eyes were like ice, and she glared at the vampire before looking to Elena, who was still sitting on the couch between the two brothers, “You and the bloody doppelgänger belong together, you two pathetic, holier-than-thou, hypocritical -“

“Enough,” Elijah interrupted, to his sister’s anger, “if you help us in this fight against Mikael, my family will never again raise a hand against you and yours unless you raise hand first, you have our word. Is that enough for you?” 

Silence reigned, before Elena stood up resolutely, reaching her hand out across the coffee table to Klaus, “I am in.” 

“Elena!” 

She didn’t turn to look at Damon and Stefan, who were staring at her in anger and shock. She continued as if she did not hear them, continuing without taking her eyes off of Klaus, “I will give you the five blood bag donation, and then _never again._ You will never go after any descendants of mine. We will not raise a hand against your family so long as you do not raise a hand against us.”

Klaus reached across the divide and shook her hand, a serious expression on his face as he solemnly agreed.

Alaric stepped forward, his face determined, “I am in.” 

“Ric!” 

“Damon, this is probably the only chance we are going to get. We defeat Mikael, Elena donates the five bags of her blood, and then the battles can _end.”_

“I’m in,” Caroline said determinedly from her seat at the bar. Her arms were crossed tightly across her front, and she looked extremely uncomfortable, but she did not falter even as Damon and Stefan glared at her. 

“Fine!” Damon snapped, throwing his hands up in the air, “I'm in too.” 

“Fine,” Stefan agreed as well, anger still twisting his features. 

Slowly, all around the room, they agreed to the terms that had been laid out, even Bonnie, who looked as though she were sucking on sour lemons as the words passed her lips.

“Lovely, I love it when people get along,” Jaime called cheerfully in the lull after the agreements had finished, before pointing to the door and going, “Now, if you would all kindly _get out of my house-“_

“Not so fast there, sweetheart,” Klaus demurred, stalking across the room like a cat until he was standing right in front of her, leaning over the bar into her personal space. 

“You have not agreed to any terms,” Klaus began, his voice pitched low, “And I would have your word before I leave your house.” 

Jaime rolled her eyes at him, “I am not a part of this. Luna and I will probably be leaving this town anyway,” she bluffed, even though she knew that Luna did not want to leave Mystic Falls for whatever reason. She just needed Klaus and all these others _out of her house_ so she could think of a plan, a way to get out of this place without causing more damage. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Klaus tutted, like he was a scolding a child. Jaime tried not to visibly bristle, but she _despised_ when someone did that to her. She had stopped being a child when she was four and the Dursley’s first locked her under the stairs for pouring herself an extra glass of water after working all day in the garden one summer.

“Now, you have an extraordinary amount of power, more so than any Wiccan witch, and you could do a significant amount of damage,” Klaus mused aloud, and she knew where he was going before the words even crossed his lips, “What say you to an alliance against my father? With your abilities, it will certainly be over much quicker.” 

There was a hint of greed in his eyes, a covetous nature of a man who saw something powerful and he _wanted_ it. 

Jaime had seen that look in Fudge’s eyes, in Riddle’s, and even in Dumbledore and Kingsley’s eyes; it was the look of someone who just found an ace in the hole, who just found a tool, a weapon that could change the odds in their favor. 

“No,” she said flatly, refusing to lean back even as Klaus got more and more into her personal space, until his forehead was almost touching hers. 

“Now, now, sweetheart, you might want to rethink that answer,” he threatened lowly, “I can imagine that although your war is over, there are still those on the run that would _love_ to get their hands on the Chosen One who killed their leader.” 

The threat turned her to stone. 

He was _right, goddamn_ him. 

In the aftermath of the war, there were still the Death Eaters on the run, those who had not been captured or killed in the Final Battle. 

Molly Weasley had killed Bellatrix Lestrange, and Rodolphus had fallen at Augusta Longbottom’s wand, but Rabastan had disappeared and had not yet been found, to Neville’s family sheer fury. Dolohov had somehow survived the Final Battle as well, and they had been close to finding him in Rome before he had killed two Muggles and disappeared again. 

Too many had escaped; Riddle’s inner circle was all but decimated, a handful here and there left like Rabastan and Dolohov, but his minor followers…they had scattered like cockroaches in the morning light, and she knew that some of them, while cowards in their own right, would jump at a chance to get to her in revenge for their fallen lord. 

She was confident in her ability to fight them off, to defend herself, but she knew that they would have no compunctions against hurting others, innocents, to get to her. Violence and bloodshed would follow her again, and she would not be able to save everyone. Their blood would be on her hands.

If Klaus spread the word to the right people, if the whispers that she was in America spread far enough, they would come for her, there was no doubt about it.

She could go back to Wizarding Britain, she knew she would be safe there, but she would be _damned_ if she was chased away from _anywhere_ ever again. 

This Klaus, Original Vampire or Original Hybrid or whatever Merlin-damned thing he was, would _not_ chase her away from _anywhere,_ even if she wanted to leave in the first place. 

She would not get drawn into another war, let alone one that did not involve her or her people. She was _done_ with fighting, she was _done_ with the loss of life and the bloodshed.

She was _done_ with being threatened.

She was eighteen years old, nearly nineteen, and in her nearly two decades of life, she had never once been _safe;_ she had been fighting all her life, and if this arrogant jackass thought that he was going to use force her to be his weapon in his war, he had _another fucking thing coming._

“Oh dear,” Luna’s voice drifted through the red haze that had fallen over her, sounding mildly concerned as if someone had spilt tea on the table cloth, “I do believe your brother has gotten her angry.” 

“He tends to have that effect on people,” Elijah’s voice sounded resigned. 

Jaime heard them as if from a distance; she knew that magic was sparking at the ends of her hair, knew that the air around them was going loaded and heavy with the press of her magic expanding outwards, seeking the threat to eradicate it. 

Klaus raised an eyebrow at her, clearly expecting her to give in, a curve of a smug smile spreading across his face. 

He thought he had her backed into a corner. 

He had another thing coming. 

A quick flick of her wrist and her wand was in her hand, and before even Klaus could move with his vampire speed, she wordlessly summoned hundreds of knives, all of them popping out of thin air and hovering behind her, over her head, between her and Klaus, and every singe one of them was pointed menacingly at him, vibrating with energy. 

Klaus flinched back, and the knives twitched forward as well. 

“You have no _idea_ what I am capable of,” Jaime hissed, “I could permanently erase all your memories of who you are, shatter every bone in your skeleton, I could rip your limbs from your torso with a single word. I could turn these knives into wooden stakes and see just how many I could stick into you like a pincushion. I could even test and see if the Killing Curse works on the undead,” her wand did not waver an inch from where it was pointed directly at his face. Her voice was cold, calm, but vicious and cutting at the same time. 

“You leave my house right this instant, leave me and mine alone, and I will not interfere with your war. But if you tell a single soul where I am, I will come for you and your family with everything I have. I am the Savior of the Wizarding World, I have people just as powerful as me that would come for you with all they have, and you would _never_ survive it.” 

She would not even have to call many people; if she told Ron, Hermione, and Ginny what was happening, who was threatening her with what, there would be nothing left of the Original Family, no matter how powerful they were. 

Two could play at this game. 

Klaus’ expression was thunderous, and she knew that if she gave him even a split second, he would attack. 

“Am I the only one that is simultaneously terrified _and_ turned on?” Kol quipped in the background, watching the battle between his older brother and this feisty witch unfold with unholy glee. 

There was a _smack_ as Rebekah cuffed him on the back of the head, and his answering whine of protest.

“Now,” Jaime leaned forward into Klaus’ space, taking a great amount of enjoyment out of the fact he instinctively flinched backwards, _“Get out of my house.”_

Klaus snarled back, “Why don’t you fucking _make me,_ sweetheart,” challenge in every line of his tensed muscles. 

His pride had taken a beating, and he was not going to back down without a fight either. 

Stretching out her magic, keeping the knives in the air threateningly, she barked out, _“Habere!”_

It was if a giant, invisible hand had grabbed Klaus, pinning his arms to his side and immobilizing his legs. He snarled, fighting against the hold, but he could not break free of it. 

Without a word, she viciously flicked her wand, and he went soaring through the picture window, clear across the front yard and into the woods at full speed, as if he had been shot from a canon.

Shocked silence reigned the room for a long moment, the only sound the soft, musical sound the shattered glass made as it fell to the ground and clattered against the wood.

“Oh,” Luna sighed softly, “I had just cleaned the windows.” 

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.

It had taken only a second of Jaime turning to look to the others with her wand still raised before everyone but the Original Family immediately headed to the door, almost stampeding over each other in their rush to leave. 

Elijah and Rebekah were still standing on the other side of the room in shock, but Kol was all but dying on the floor where he rolled from the chair with the force of his laughter. 

Jaime had to admit, she did like Kol a little bit; he reminded her a bit of Fred and George. All laughter and snark and witty retorts, but a brain and killer instincts hidden behind the humor. 

Charlotte looked terrified, half-inching along the far wall to the door as if she wanted nothing more to run, but did not want to leave behind the Original Family. 

“Well, you have to admit, he did have it coming,” Rebekah said mildly. 

Jaime did not know what to make of the only female Original.

If Elijah was the calm, serious one, and Kol was the joking, devil-may-care, Rebekah was a wildcard she had not been able to figure out yet. 

She was beautiful, of course, with long blond hair, ice blue eyes, and pouty lips. She held herself with an air of confidence, almost superiority. Dressed impeccably, not a single hair out of place, she could have been a female-Draco Malfoy. 

“He did indeed,” Elijah sighed, before straightening and inclining his head to Jaime and Luna. 

“I apologize for my brother,” Elijah spoke the words like he had long ago gotten used to saying them; she had a feeling Elijah spent a good portion of his immortal years apologizing for his brother, “And I hope that if we cannot be allies, we can at least continue with a truce.” 

Jaime didn’t speak, still watching the shattered window out of the corner of her eye to make sure that Klaus did not come bursting back in, seeking blood. 

Luna cocked her head, staring at Elijah with an intensity that she normally reserved for magical creatures, “I do not understand, if your father’s goal is killing you and your siblings destroys the entire vampiric race, what about any vampires that he might have sired?” 

Rebekah scoffed, “Our father has never turned a vampire. He refuses to feed on humans, he feeds on other vampires. He would turn a stake on himself and then have that be the end of it.” 

“If your brother, the hybrid, cannot be killed, why don’t you just set him against your father?” Jaime asked, anger slowly leaking out of her veins now. She quickly cast a _Reparo_ at the window and all the glass shards quickly formed back together, throwing up some wards as well just to be safe. 

“Our mother, during her brief period of resurrection, created a weapon able to kill our brother,” Elijah said, warily, as if he was not sure if they were trustworthy with that information, “Before, Niklaus had been the only one that would survive.” 

Luna hummed lightly, before she turned her eyes to Jaime. 

“Jaime-“

Jaime groaned; she knew that voice. 

“Luna-“

“Jaime, we are talking about the potential for a _genocide-“_

Jaime bit back the part of her that just wanted to scream _It’s not our fight! It’s not our war! I am so goddamn tired of fighting!_

But the instant she thought it, she felt sick to her stomach; she was not that kind of person to walk away when innocents were threatened. 

Elijah seemed to sense her conflict, and he turned the full force of his gaze on her. 

“I know you have just finished fighting a war," he started, voice low and soothing, almost…brotherly, “And you do not know us, nor do you owe us any loyalty or favors. But killing Mikael is the only way for my family, and by extension, the entire vampiric race we sired, to continue.” 

“There are the vampires out there that are just…normal,” Elijah started, keeping his eyes on Luna now, not turning to look back at Jaime, for which she was thankful. She was sure her iron-clad grip on her emotions was slipping with every word he said.

“Think of the vampire who changed to be with the one they loved forever, or others who were turned to escape terminal illnesses. There are the ones who try their best to control their hunger, who try not to hurt people and feed on blood bags. Those who chose to be this way for whatever reason, and those, like your friend Caroline, who had no choice.” 

Jaime thought of Caroline, the sweet girl who had reached out to them with no hidden motives, and winced. Elijah’s words were working. 

Jaime could see it vividly; she could see the possible untold thousands of vampires, some of them innocent and some of them probably not, all those who would die if this Mikael succeeded in killing his children. 

She thought of Remus, who had no choice in what he became, and lived under the stigma of it for the rest of his life; who had accepted it, considered himself a monster. She thought of Draco and Blaise and Theo, marked for life because they had been forced into the ranks of the dark, mere teenagers who had been forced to kill. 

She thought of Viktor, how much Hermione loved him, and how it would devastate her friend to lose him. How there are people in their world now who had loved him when he was the Bulgarian Seeker, and now that he was a werewolf, they called for his head. 

“What exactly do you want from us?” Luna asked, demanding more detail instead of just the simple term “alliance."

“If not your help, then just the promise that no matter what the others offer you, you will not ally against us,” Elijah summed it up, “But, if you helped us, this could be done with minimal bloodshed. Our father may not harm humans, but he would have no problem hurting other vampires in this town.” 

Jaime grit her teeth and set her jaw; she did not want to be bought into this war, but she knew from the look on Luna’s face that she would probably have little to no choice about it in the end. 

Elijah’s eyes darted between the two girls, and he knew he had to tread carefully. There was a chance that Jaime and Luna would join their side, and that would be the ace up their sleeve, the thing that changed the tides. He could not mess it up, not unless he wanted to end up like his brother being thrown through the window.

“You do not have to give us an answer right this moment,” Elijah conceded, “And of course, you can just remain neutral in the conflict. But please do think about an alliance.”

Luna said something - probably an agreement to think about - but Jaime was checking out of this conversation already. Her head was pounding, and all she wanted was to crawl back into bed. 

Merlin, was it only this morning when she had been reeling from that memory-dream? 

It felt like a lifetime ago.

Elijah and Rebekah started to head for the door, but Kol and Charlotte stayed behind. 

Kol bounded over to them with the enthusiasm of a puppy, throwing himself onto the couch across from her, and Jaime found herself smiling the tiniest bit despite herself.

“Well, at the risk of being potato-launched out of your front window like my idiot brother,” the small smile turned into something a little bit bigger of a grin at that sentence, “While you are waiting and mulling over how _perfect_ an alliance with us would be, if you are up to a bit of an adventure, I was wondering if you would be willing to help with a rescue mission,” Kol started, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. 

“What?” Jaime spluttered, thrown by the abrupt change in subject. 

“Charlotte here,” Kol motioned over his shoulder to the female vampire who was still looking at Jaime as if she were a ticking time bomb, “has a descendent, Davina Claire, who is a witch in New Orleans. To make a long and pretty convoluted story short, Davina was set to be sacrificed along with three other young witches in a tradition meant to strengthen the coven’s magic. The three other girls were killed, and Davina has all their power. The king of New Orleans, who is an old…acquaintance of ours as we explained, saved the girl. But now, they are persona non grata. And in order to save Davina, we need to get her out of New Orleans and bring her somewhere where some witches can pull the extra magic out of her and release it back into the earth.” 

Jaime blinked and turned to Luna, her mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out. 

How the hell is she supposed to respond to that?

Luna took point on that question, putting all of Jaime’s racing questions into words.

“Why? Like if we can pull the magic out of her without killing her, why won’t the elders or whoever runs the show in New Orleans do that? Why kill her?” 

Charlotte answered, speaking quickly as if she just wanted to get the information out and book it out the door.

“The Harvest Ritual is a rituatal of rebirth, it’s supposed to be a reaping and sowing. There has to be death for rebirth, but sometimes…sometimes the ancestors will not bring back a girl. That’s why I had Kol turn me, why I gave up being a witch, and that’s why we need to get Davina out of New Orleans. That much power is going to kill her if she keeps it, she won’t be able to control it. If we can get a witch outside of New Orleans to channel the magic back into the earth, Davina will be fine, and the Elders in New Orleans will have no way to leverage control over her.” 

“Did you get that all out in one go?” Kol turned to his friend in faux-shock. But it worked, because some of the tension came out of her shoulders as she rolled her eyes and smacked the back of his head lightly. 

"Also, magic is forbidden in the French Quarter by the King, and it’s a bloody war down there that I do not care about. I just care about my niece.” 

Jaime leaned forward, sighing a bit because she _knew_ that she was going to end up on this rescue mission, she knew herself well enough to know that for a fact. 

"What will happen to the witches if this magic that is supposed to be given back is not?"

Charlotte shrugged.

"Honestly, I do not know. They say that the magic of all the witches in New Orleans will fade, but I do not believe it. The Elders will not have as much power, but they will still be witches, they will still be able to channel magic from the earth, they will just not have the Ancestral magic to pull from. It will be a learning curve for them, but they will survive.” 

“Fine,” Jaime heard herself saying begrudgingly, “I will help you save this girl. It will be easy enough. Once I am there with her, I can grab her and apparate back here.”

“Apparate?”

“Magical means of traveling,” Jaime explained, thinking to herself that it was a good thing she was used to the strain of apparating long distances during the war. If not, the distance between New Orleans and Mystic Falls would be too much and she would end up splinched. 

“I shall stay here,” Luna offered, turning to Elijah with a gleam in her eye, “There are many questions I would wish to have answered before we come to a decision about a potential alliance.”

Elijah inclined his head, a small twitch of his lips belaying his amusement. 

“I am going to _regret this,”_ Jaime hissed under her breath before she stood up. 

“Okay, when do we go?” 

Kol smiled at her brightly, before jumping to his feet. 

“Right now!” 

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_**New Orleans  
July 19th** _

Davina sat underneath the open window, legs crossed at the ankle as she tilted her head back to look up at the blue sky. 

_“What_ are you doing?” 

The young teenager relaxed, letting her head fall forward as she looked across the room to Father Kieran in the threshold, a tray with two mugs on it. 

“Marcel told me that I couldn’t open a window because they might see me,” Davina explained, “But I wanted the fresh air and to see the sky. So, if I sit underneath the window and open it with magic, I can get the air and see the sky, but no one will see me.” 

“Clever girl,” Father Kieran complimented, crossing the room to put the tray down on the small table to the left of where she was sitting. He handed her a mug, before he sat down in the small writing chair near her. 

“Thank you,” Davina took the mug and wrapped her hands around the warm ceramic. The hot chocolate was comforting, even in the warmth and humidity of the summer in New Orleans.

Father Kieran was always kind to her; he was almost like the uncle she had never had. He did not like Marcel all that much, but the one thing he agreed with the vampire on was protecting her. That was why he allowed her to hide in the attic, why he was so kind to her. 

Davina cherished these quiet moments with the priest; it was times like this that she felt less like she was in hiding and more like she was just visiting with a friend. Father Kieran treated her like a normal girl, and never once did she ever feel as though he was being condescending or stifling. 

For the entirety of her life, she had been alone; she had taken care of herself. Her mother had been busy, a single-mom who was just trying to do her best, but along the way, had stopped being a mom almost entirely. 

Now, she was surrounded by people who wanted to take care of her and keep her safe; even if a large part of it was because of the immense power she held, she would take what she could get. 

Father Kieran quickly drew her into conversation about the sketches she had done, portraits of Marcel and himself and a handful of landscapes she had drawn from Googling photos of far-off places. 

“I would love to go to Paris, or Rome, or London,” Davina sighed, looking longingly at the landscape she had drawn with the Eiffel Tower dominating the background. 

“I took a year off after I graduated college and traveled the world,” Father Kieran admitted. “I was unsure about what my path was going to be. I had felt the call to be a priest, but when you are twenty-one years old, that kind of certainty is a little out of reach.” 

“What was your favorite place?” Davina asked, enthralled. 

Father Kieran’s lips twitched into a smile. 

“I loved Kraków. There was just something about the city, about the resilience of the people, that drew me in. I spent two and a half months there, just exploring the city and all of Poland.” 

“What made you decide to come back to America and be a priest?” 

“Running out of money,” Father Kieran laughed, and then grew a little bit more serious, but his eyes were still lit up with some kind of emotion she could not put a name on. She memorized that expression, wanting to draw it later on, the inner fire that she saw that burned just as brightly within him as she was sure it did when he was closer to her age. 

“But my last trip on my way back home was Rome. And I walked into St. Peter’s Cathedral at the Vatican, and just…there was something about standing there, looking at these famous paintings, and seeing the grandeur and the love and the _faith_ …it reminded me how I felt the first time I felt the call to be a priest. And seeing the belief, in seeing the faith, even if it might not be the right denomination…it was almost like the end of a chapter of a book. It was closure, it was peace, it was the feeling that I had had a year of freedom, of love, of life that not many people got to have, and it was the closure I needed to continue on my path.” 

The two sat and chat for a little while longer, Father Kieran filling her in on his months abroad and the wildest things he had done, when another familiar voice rang out from the door, “What are you doing on the floor?”

Davina turned and smiled sunnily to Marcel, who was leaning in the threshold, arms crossed, looking at her in a mix of bafflement and amusement. 

“I wanted to see the sky and get some fresh air, but you told me that I can’t stand in front of the window,” Davina motioned upwards with one free hand, “So I sat down here and opened it with magic. Loopholes,” she stuck her tongue out mockingly, and she heard Father Kieran chuckle under his breath, but he hid it behind the half-drunk mug of hot chocolate. 

Marcel rolled his eyes, but pushed off of the threshold to cross over to her. 

“Father Kieran, do you mind if I have a word with Davina?” 

Father Kieran’s face twisted slightly, but he gathered the mugs and gave Davina a small, private smile, before he left the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. 

Marcel crossed the room and dropped gracefully to sit next to Davina, his back against the wall and their shoulders brushing.

They sat in silence for a moment, the only sound the white noise that drifted in through the window. 

With a sigh, Davina relaxed, letting her head rest heavily against Marcel’s shoulder. He instinctively slouched slightly, so that her head could fit more comfortably. 

“Any progress?” Davina asked hopefully, trying to keep the note of desperation out of her voice. 

Marcel sighed; her head bobbed with the movement of his torso, but it did not bother her. 

“I am working on several plans, a few of them have the potential to be perfect,” Marcel explained, “The first thing we have to do is get the magic out of you, and to do that we need witches. So, we have to find a way out of New Orleans.” 

“Any progress on that front?” 

“Several,” Marcel hedged, “I have some allies that I am waiting to hear back from, but I should know by the end of the week. Just…try not to get too much cabin fever, okay? I am going to get you out of here.” 

Davina pushed the tears back, but her voice still twisted with the fear and emotion she was trying to push back. 

“You promise?” 

Marcel wrapped an arm around her, moving her head from his shoulder to pressed against his torso; she closed her eyes and focused on his heartbeat, the feeling of his voice vibrating throughout her skin. 

“I promise.” 

“Mikael is out there, the witches resurrected him to come after you, you have to be careful-“

“Shh,” Marcel soothed, running a hand over her hair, pressing her tighter against his chest as if he could protect her there forever. 

“I know, and I will be careful. But I won’t let anything happen to you, you hear me? I got you.”

Davina just held onto him tighter and prayed that this was not going to be a promise he would be forced to break. 

_Please,_ she begged anyone that would listen, _please don’t take him from me._

.  
.  
.  
.

After reassuring Davina that he was going to come back to have dinner with her - and that he was going to be fine - Marcel thundered down the stairs, blew past Father Kieran, and stumbled out into the sun. 

Once outside the church, Marcel took a moment to gather himself. The front that he put on for Davina took a lot out of him, and his heart ached at the thought that he might fail her, and his tongue felt bitter with the lies he had spouted, but he could not think of anything else to say. 

How was he supposed to look this girl in the eye, this innocent teenager who turned to him and depended on him for protection, and tell her that he honestly had no idea how he was going to get her out of this mess?

Every avenue that he thought of - smuggling her out of New Orleans, finding someone to take the magic out of her - had the potential to go disastrously, horrifically wrong. He could not find a plan that was definitely going to save her, and he would be damned before he failed her. So he lied, said that he had a plan that might work, and tried to force himself to come up with one. 

He heard something - a rock against another rock, a scrape of a boot against the gravel - and he whirled around, vampiric snarl crawling up his throat. 

There was no one behind him, but Marcel had been a vampire for too long to believe that. 

“Show yourself,” he demanded, eyes darting around and around as he tensed, ready to charge and fight against anyone there. 

They were too close to Davina, if it was a bunch of witches, she would be captured, he could not let that happen, not at all - 

A faint breeze of air, and he could feel a presence behind him.

Marcel whirled around, and froze. 

There, at the end of the alley, was Niklaus Mikaelson. 

Marcel was suddenly two centuries back in time, staring across the stage as Klaus stared back at him in fear, Mikael himself standing behind him, stake in hand. The smell of smoke filled his lungs, the heat of the flames around him, and the searing knowledge that he had been left behind as the city burned to the ground. 

For a long moment, the two just stared at each other. 

A slow, small smile tipped up one corner of Klaus’ lips. 

“Hello Marcellus.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay (again!) but here is the chapter! we are starting to get to the plot! i am going to try real hard to keep on my updating schedule, but the end of the semester is coming with a vengeance, so please be patient with me!
> 
> thank you all so much for reading, **please please please** comment, let me know what you think! 
> 
> bonus points for anyone who picks up the Underworld references in this chapter!


	7. seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The "Great Davina Rescue!" 
> 
> Also, Klaus tries to flirt and fails, Elijah and Luna have an interesting conversation, and Jaime is a badass.

**_Mystic Falls_**  
**_July 18th_**

When Kol had said, “Right now,” Jaime had thought he had been kidding. 

He was not. 

She had barely a minute to summon her emergency go-bag (she never unpacked it, not just because of her paranoia, but because she honestly forgot to) before Kol ushered her out of the house, Charlotte on their heels, tying to get her to tell him more details about apparition. 

Luna had waved her away cheerily, and Jaime wanted to roll her eyes but found she couldn’t. After everything they had been through during the war separately, and then after everything that Luna had done, had sacrificed for Jaime and the others…Jaime could not find it within her to fight with the younger girl. 

Not when Jaime was responsible for the scar across Luna’s face and all the ones you could not see, not when she felt the weight of that burden on her shoulders every time she looked at her friend.

She had been hesitant to trust Luna once before, and it had been a giant mistake. So Jaime would trust Luna this time, trust that Luna had a reason for wanting to be involved in this, and go along with that trust without question. 

“Rebekah, are you going to come with us on this 'Grand Davina Rescue?'” Kol asked as his sister maneuvered the car through the streets of Mystic Falls. 

Rebekah scoffed and rolled her eyes. 

“Brother, between you, Charlotte, and the Chosen One, you will be more than covered. I will stay here with Elijah and Nik to make sure those idiots do not cause any trouble,” Rebekah answered. 

“Well, I think out of the two of us, you have the harder job,” Jaime muttered under her breath, idly fiddling with her wand as she watched the trees pass by them. 

Rebekah let out a breathy almost-laugh, “You are not wrong there, Potter.” 

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Kol ran into the house at a jog, promising over his shoulder that he would be right back. Charlotte had followed him, and Rebekah went off on her own into the house as well. 

Jaime lingered outside, leaning against the hood of the car. She was fiddling absentmindedly with her necklace - the small moleskine bag that she stored all the most precious things in - as she waited for the others to come back. 

A faint disturbance in the air behind her was all the warning she needed before she extended her right arm, wand in hand, as she warned, “Don’t even think about it.” 

“Impressive.” 

Looking surprisingly chipper for a man that she had thrown out of her front window not an hour ago, Klaus appeared to her right, leaning against the front of the car, not even looking a little apprehensive at her wand that she had not put away. 

Jaime watched him carefully. His face was unguarded, a small smile tugging up the sides of his lips. His eyes were bright with interest, but he was not looming over her. His shoulders were relaxed, his entire body seemingly at ease as he leaned against the car. 

She knew that it would take only a fraction of a second for him to lurch through the air for her throat, so she kept her wand in hand even as she let her arm drop. 

They fall into silence, and Jaime actually relishes the quiet. It felt like the entire day had been one massive blur, and her adrenaline was only just starting to go down a bit. 

It should concern her how quickly she was able to fall back into her battle-mindset, but she was inwardly pleased that they had not dulled with time. 

_Maybe I am just not cut out for peace,_ Jaime thought bitterly to herself. 

She could feel Klaus staring at her out of the corner of her eye, but if there was one thing that she had learned from her time at school - besides, you know, everything else that saved her life - was how to ignore gossip and whispers and stares. 

When everything she had ever done was under a microscope, she had learned very quickly to just continue on her way without paying attention to those who stared, to grow a thick skin even when others would try their hardest to break through and see her reactions. 

“You have seen some battles, haven’t you, Chosen One?” Klaus started, voice only going slightly mocking at the end there. 

Jaime didn’t even turn to look at him. 

“I did fight in a war, Klaus, do try to keep up. Don’t tell me old age is making you senile, I did explain all of this less than an hour ago.” 

Klaus’s small smile turned into a full-blown smirk. 

“I am just curious about the potential…limitlessness of your power.” 

Jaime rolled her eyes. 

“You and every other person in this world. I don’t need to tell you how well it ended for them when they pushed me too far.” 

Umbridge was a sadistic bitch, and Jaime did not feel a single ounce of guilt for her hand in how the ugly pink toad had met her fate. 

Hermione might be the more vicious one, but Jaime was _vindictive._

Sirius used to tell her with a nostalgic look on his face that it was a trait she had inherited from her mother. 

“How about another demonstration then, love? One that does not involve me flying fifty feet, if you would.” He eyed her up and down challengingly, “Unless you used up all of you knowledge in those previous displays.”

Jaime only grinned. 

Klaus had another thing coming if he thought he could bait her into something like that. It just showed her that in all his past battles with those that lived in Mystic Falls, he had very much been fighting against teenagers, those who would rise to the bait and the challenge. 

Jaime had long since gone past the part of her life where she wanted to live up to challenges, when she needed to feel validated by showing up someone’s expectations of her. 

“Nice try, Mikaelson,” Jaime laughed, “But you have to buy me dinner first.” 

“Name the time and place, love,” Klaus replied without hesitation. 

“Ugh, ew, no, I was joking. I would honestly rather go for a skinny-dip with the Giant Squid,” Jaime knew he would not get the reference, but she did not care, “I am not a magical show pony. You see what you see and you don’t complain. Well, you can complain, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to listen to you.” 

Klaus just kept _staring_ at her, but thankfully, Kol and Charlotte were walking out of the house, a look of surprise on their face when they saw Klaus standing there with her. 

“Ah, brother, are we ready to depart?”

“‘We?'’’ Kol parroted, eyebrows up in bewilderment. 

“Yes, _we._ I have some words that I need to have with Marcellus. And if you don’t want the entire supernatural world at your heels, it would do well to bring him in on this cockamine plan of yours.”

“We were planning on approaching him anyway, and then figuring out the best time to slip Miss Potter in to grab her. If you want to start a fight with Marcellus, please wait until we are well enough _gone_ from New Orleans,” Kol blithely responded, rolling his eyes at his brother. 

“Of course,” Klaus accuiesed, but there was a glint in his eye that made her think that he was just trying to appease his brother and had no intentions to actually follow through. 

“Alright then…everyone into the car,” Kol ordered, holding the keys aloft as he headed to the driver side door. 

Klaus rounded the car and climbed into the passenger seat, so Jaime of course took the back seat behind him; she did not want to be in easy line of sight with the smarmy bastard. 

Charlotte climbed into the back seat with her, and then they were off. 

“Okay, hope everyone is ready for the long haul, cause it’s roughly thirteen hours driving to New Orleans, and I am not stopping unless it’s an emergency or a need for gasoline,” Kol cheerfully announced as he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and pealed out of the driveway at top speed. 

Jaime fortified herself as much as she could, leaning back against the leather seats and watching the scenery rush by the window. 

This was going to be the road trip from hell. 

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.  
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_**Jaime and Luna’s House** _

Luna hummed lightly to herself as she straighten up the living room after Jaime left. 

She knew that her friend was questioning why she was so invested in the Original’s battle. But Luna also knew that Jaime would never say anything against her, would trust her judgement. 

Luna had not missed the flash of guilt that always showed in Jaime’s eyes when she looked her full in the face; the scar there had faded to what it was now a long time ago, but the emotional scar…that had taken a little longer. 

Luna knew that she would never be able to put her feelings and senses of the future into words. Knew that they were not concrete enough for her to be considered a Seer, but she had inherited some of her mother’s own intuition, bordering on premonition.

She had no visions, spoke no prophecies, but there was _something_ she was able to sense like another portion of her brain, a receptor for the often-not-seen part of the world they lived in. And she learned to trust those feelings, those thoughts, for they often saved her and her friends. 

And something told her that the Original Family needed their help, and if they did not help them…she never wanted to feel that cold again.

“May I help you with anything?”

Luna turned, not even the tiniest bit surprised that he had come back. 

Elijah Mikaelson was an enigma, and the Ravenclaw within Luna had always been fascinated by challenges.

“No, it’s alright, thank you,” Luna propped up one more pillow, made sure that everything that had been broken was repaired, and then turned to fully face Elijah. 

Elijah took a moment to more closely study the young girl in front of him. She was shorter than him by almost a full foot, her curly blond hair loose around her shoulders. She was wearing a gauzy white dress, which offset her own pale skin. Her jewelry was…eclectic. Her necklace seemed to be made out of bottle caps, and her earrings were made out of small radishes. 

Somehow…it did not look out of place on her. 

“I wanted to apologize once again for my brother,” Elijah started, but Luna cut him off quickly. 

“You are not responsible for all of his actions, so don’t apologize for them,” Luna said gently, before she cocked her head and asked him, “Do you like tea?” 

Elijah blinked rapidly, off balance, but just went, “Yes.” 

“Good,” Luna danced off to the kitchen, the confused Original following behind her. 

Elijah watched as Luna grabbed two mugs off of the drying rack, reaching into another drawer and pulling out two metal tea infusers. In the cupboard above her were roughly a dozen tins, each one with a different hand-written label on them. Luna grabbed one near the end and popped open the top, scooping out the loose leaves into the infusers and popping them into the mugs. 

There was something profound about watching her prepare the tea the old fashioned way. He had to remind himself that these girls were from England, and something told him that the way the Americans made their tea would just horrify them. 

Still, she took a small jar of sugar cubes and a carton of milk out of the fridge, putting it on the island in front of him. Once the water was boiling, she poured it carefully into the mugs, putting one down in front of him and then wrapping her fingers around her own, humming under her breath. 

Elijah dropped a few sugar cubes within his own tea, the aromatic smell settling something deep within him. 

A few sips of the tea was comforting, and the silence around them did not feel stagnant. It felt welcoming. 

Luna added some sugar and a small dollop of milk to her tea, sipping it lightly. 

“I have a few questions for you,” Luna’s melodious voice rang through the kitchen after a few minutes of just them savoring the tea. 

“I anticipated that you might,” Elijah hedged. 

“We have heard stories of your family in our world, as we told you. I am…confused as to why you and some of your siblings have spent century-long chucks ‘daggered,’” Luna made quotes in the air with her fingers, “As you have. You told how it wasn’t all voluntary, but why did your bother do it, and why are you all still together if you are as mad about it as you spoke?” 

"I don’t see how that has to do with alliance,” Elijah stalled.

Luna was undeterred. 

"I want to make sure that if Jaime and I are to help you, to be in an alliance with you and your family, that we are not going to get caught in sibling feuds. I have a feeling they tend to get bloody with you lot,” Luna’s nose crinkled up adorably when she said the last sentence, and Elijah had to forcibly remind himself that she was a powerful witch who would and could defend herself. 

“We have fought throughout the years,” Elijah finally answered, “And there were times it was in the safer interest for some of our siblings to be daggered. Finn would have run and offered himself up to our father, he hated what we were so much,” Elijah felt a familiar stab of grief as he thought of their oldest brother, who finally got his wish. 

“And…Niklaus will never admit this aloud, but he had done it out of fear. He was afraid we would have left him, afraid that our father would find us and kill us all, was afraid of what could happen. And in the end, when we were all facing death by our own mother, we decided that it was better to just leave the past in the past, truly this time.” 

It was a very short response to a convoluted, complicated story, but Luna seemed to accept it. 

“What about your father makes him much more of a danger to you than any other threat?” 

“Aside from him being in possession of a weapon made by our mother, he is just as old as us, so just as strong. Vampires get stronger the older they are. That, and he is a ruthless man, does not hesitate, has extensive knowledge of how to kill…he is a very real threat to us,” Elijah trailed off, everything in him railing against admitting any kind of information that might be used against them. 

“Once this battle is over…once your father is defeated in whichever way, what are you going to do?” 

Elijah opened and closed his mouth, his head tilting in surprise. 

“You know…I have not thought about it. Leave Mystic Falls, probably. See where and what my siblings do. I do not think any of us relish the idea of being separated when things are as good as they are right now.”

“You will just go wherever your siblings will go? What about what you want?” 

“That is what I want,” Elijah answered honestly. 

Luna was studying him with an expression that he could not name; it was a mixture of fascination, awe, and some other emotion that he could not place but one that make him surprisingly apprehensive. 

“Any other questions?” Elijah asked, trying to deflect her attention and continue the conversation. 

“Yes,” she answered, taking a quick pause to put her mug in the kitchen sink before rounding around the edge of the kitchen island to where he was sitting on one of the stools. 

She got close to him, much closer than he was expecting. He did not stiffen or lean back, curious as to what she was doing. 

Luna was soon only a little less than a foot away from him, almost able to look him directly in the eye when he was sitting and she was standing. 

“May I?” She asked, holding her hands by his face questioningly. 

Not sure what to make of her request, Elijah simply nodded. 

Luna carefully cupped his face between her small, soft hands. He inhaled sharply at her nearness, and the smell of tea, sugar, and her lavender perfume. 

She was examining him closely, no hint of shame or embarrassment on her face at their proximity. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes were flickering back and forth, up and down, almost like she was trying to read some invisible words off of his skin.

This close, he noticed more details in her delicate features. 

Her eyes were luminous, almost hypnotizing. The soft, pale silver was almost like mercury, little flecks of darker, storm gray closer to her pupils. The scar that cut across her face didn’t detract from her beauty, but instead enhanced it, made her features so fascinating with the juxtaposition of softness and danger. She was pale, and there were faint, near-invisible freckles across the bridge of her nose. 

He did not know how long they stood there in silence, her hands on her face and her eyes studying his features; he would not have been surprised if she had been measuring his soul in those minutes. 

Idly, he wondered how someone so bright and pure could touch someone as dark and dirty as he was without flinching. 

Luna blinked rapidly, as if she had just been startled back into awareness. Distractedly, she brushed the arch of his cheekbone with one of her thumbs before she pulled back, her head cocked to the side like someone who had just been confronted with an interesting puzzle. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” 

Luna didn’t answer for a long moment, her pale eyebrows furrowed.

“You know the myth of the birth of the Greek Gods?” 

Elijah blinked rapidly, his only outward sign of surprise. 

“What?” 

Luna stepped backwards, taking his empty mug off of the kitchen island and headed back to the sink. He watched as she emptied the tea leaves into the trash, before slowly washing the mugs by hands. 

“Kronos, the Titan. He was the youngest of the Titans, but the most ambitious. He killed his father, ruled over what they called the Golden Age, when everyone did the right thing.” 

“But then, he heard that his children were prophesied to overthrow him. So he devoured them,” Elijah continued, unsure where this analogy was going to go. 

“Yes, but Rhea, his wife, hid Zeus from him, tricked her husband into eating a rock instead. And when Zeus came back, he tricked his father, freed his siblings, and overthrew his father.” 

“But then the times that they ruled, things were worse. Humanity struggled, people were punished, innocent and guilty a like,” Elijah countered. 

“Yes,” Luna agreed, taking a towel from next to the sink and slowly drying the ceramic, turning to look at Elijah fully, “But there are more myths of that time. Of art, passion, sometimes wrong and unhealthy love, but sometimes beautiful love. Of families and friends, and struggles and triumphs. It might not have been as perfect, but it was humanity at its finest, with occasional meddling from the gods.” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Because,” Luna carefully put away the two mugs, each movement measured as she shut the cabinet and turned with her hands on her hips, a determined set to her mouth, “Greek mythology, or the stories and morals they represent, are still true. We see them without realizing the parallels. They continue, they endure.” 

“You see my father as Kronos,” Elijah stated, her convoluted analogy finally clicking a bit in his head. 

“Yes. He’s going to try to swallow you and your siblings whole, is going to try and destroy anything you create with the delusion it will preserve and protect a ‘perfect’ world,” Luna’s words were loaded, each one uncomfortably close to the vulnerabilities that he and his siblings carried. 

“But you think we will win?” 

“Yes.” 

Elijah allowed himself to ask one more question that could be perceived as weakness, desperately curious to know what this outsider, this innocent girl, would answer. 

“And if we are like the gods? Creating more and more damage, meddling and causing rifts where there should be peace?” 

Luna’s face softened, and she reached out to covers his hand on the island with hers, squeezing for one long moment. 

“Humanity at its finest, remember? It might not be clean and neat and perfect, but it will be real. You cannot have good without bad, cannot have peace without experiencing turmoil.”

“We are not humans,” he pointed out. 

“You are not monsters, either.” 

“What were you searching for when you were looking at me?” 

Here, Luna’s smile turned a bit secretive, a light of mischief in her eye. 

“Do not worry, Elijah Mikaelson. I found what I was looking for. Maybe in time, you will too.” 

.  
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 _ **Outside New Orleans**_  
_**July 19th**_

Jaime was ready to throw herself out of this car. 

They had been speeding towards New Orleans at a breakneck pace. She had lost count after the fifteenth of the number of times that Klaus, Kol, or Charlotte had compelled a police officer who had pulled them over for speeding. They had stopped only a handful of times for gas, where Jaime had stretched her legs and back, bones popping and joints groaning in protest. 

Thankfully, she had bought some of her own food, so she was not starving. 

Too uncomfortable to sleep in the car, she had forced herself to stay awake for the roughly ten hours they had been driving. According to Charlotte, it was normally a fifteen hour drive, but with the way the Originals had done it, they had shaved a decent chunk of time off. 

Now in the early hours of the morning, the sun just barely illuminating the sky, they were finally on the outskirts of New Orleans. 

Kol was driving now, taking his shift. Charlotte was asleep in the passenger seat, and to Jaime’s absolute dismay, Klaus was sitting in the backseat with her. 

The hybrid was on his phone, reading some article or another, but she could see from her peripheral vision that he would periodically look up and study her shamelessly for a long moment before looking back down at his phone. 

Kol drove up to a house that had all the lights off; from the overgrown length of the grass and the lack of cars anywhere near it, Jaime assumed that it was abandoned. 

“Where are we?” She asked softly, shifting slightly forward to talk to Kol. 

Kol put the car in park and turned to her, absentmindedly reaching out to wake up Charlotte. 

“This is just an abandoned house that I know about. We will rest here for a little bit, make a plan, and then go into the city center later.” 

Jaime nodded, slipping out of the car. Charlotte, Kol, and Klaus followed soon after. 

Once they were inside, Kol turned to her with a sly smile on his face. 

“Do you know any protective wards? Right now, with no human owner, any vampire can waltz right in like we can.” 

Jaime gave Kol a look. 

“This is just you wanting to see more magic, isn’t it?” 

“Guilty as charged,” Kol said without a hint of shame. 

Jaime sighed, but flicked her wrist and then her wand was in her hand, to Kol’s delight. She walked out of the house and down onto the grass, bathed in the beginning light of dawn. 

She couldn’t be that irritated at him, she found. There was something sweet about his delight of magic, and he reminded her so vividly of the twins that she was hard-pressed to keep the homesickness from washing over her and showing on her face. 

It was almost second-nature to go outside the house and walk in a slow circle around it, casting all the wards that she had learned during the war. Muggle-Repelling charms, alarm wards, protective enchantments, and anything else that she could think of. 

Once she was done and was back in the front of the house, she allowed herself a split second to relax. 

The sun was really starting to rise now, the sky painted orange, pink, and a darker violet. It was beautiful. 

A rustling sound had her turning her head. 

There, curled up on a rock, was a small rattlesnake. It was pretty, a pale gray color with darker patches of scales, an orange stripe down it’s back. It’s head was lifted curiously, it’s rattle silent, and Jaime found herself smiling a bit. 

She had found that she had enjoyed the aristocratic pride of snakes; often, during the war, they had been her messengers, her companions. She had summoned them, befriended many, and used them to help protect herself and her friends. They would stay awake while she slept, standing guard and alerting her if anything came close. 

When she had been twelve, she had been terrified of what her Parsletongue had meant. She had hated anything that had linked her to Voldemort. But now, it was another gift that she found she was thankful for. 

It hadn’t faded when Voldemort died, and she had her suspicions about that, but she did not want to think too closely on it, at least not now. 

_“Hello,”_ she hissed to the small snake, kneeling down a few feet away. 

The snake’s tongue darted out into the air, and it hissed back in response. 

_“A Ssspeaker,”_ if a snake could sound surprised, this one certainly did, _“I have never before met a Ssspeaker.”_

 _“My name is Jaime,”_ she replied, _“Yours?”_

 _“No human name for me,”_ the small rattlesnake replied, uncoiling it’s body and lifting it’s head up further. 

Jaime reached out her hand, palm up, and the snake gently nosed at her palm before it carefully slithered up her arm, wrapping around her neck in a comfortable embrace. 

She was not alarmed by it; many of the snakes she had encountered in the past had done such once they learned she was a Speaker. She had a sneaking suspicion it was because of her warmth, but she had never complained. 

_“What should I call you, then?”_ Jaime asked. The snakes had often laughed at her, her human obsession with names, but some had names given to them by others, or some that had been pets and released into the wild gave those names. 

_“Call me Kaa,"_ the rattlesnake responded, and Jaime had to to refrain herself from asking if the snake called herself that because of the Jungle Book. 

_“Kaa,”_ Jaime started, standing up and looking once again to the rising sun, _“Please call me Jaime. My friends and I will be in this house for a few hours. Please alert me if anyone else comes around.”_

 _“Of course, mistressss,”_ Kaa responded, and Jaime walked up to the porch, gently putting Kaa down on the wooden planks in a spot that would get a lot of sun once it fully rose. 

Jaime walked back into the front room, stopping dead in the entryway when she realized that Klaus was there, and he had probably been watching everything through the front window. 

She looked past him to Kol, who was lounging on one of the old couches. 

“I set up some wards and protective enchantments. We are hidden here for however long we need,” Jaime crossed around Klaus to sit in one of the free armchairs. 

“We also saw that you made a snake friend,” Klaus quipped, watching her with an intensity that made Jaime want to curse him. 

“Yes,” she said blankly, “She will also alert me if anyone tries to get in.” 

Before Klaus could continue asking her questions, Jaime turned to Charlotte and Kol. 

“What is the plan, exactly? I get in there and grab the girl and Apparate back to Mystic Falls?”

“Well, partially,” Kol hesitated, before leaning forward to explain further, “Klaus wants to talk to Marcel, and we need to let Marcel know what we are going to do, and about the threat. Once Klaus talks to Marcel, Marcel will give us the location of Davina. Then he will call, and we will bring you to wherever we are meeting. You are probably going to have to grab her quickly and move, because as soon as the witches suspect we are moving Davina out of the city, they are going to attack.” 

Jaime nodded absentmindedly, pushing some of her hair back off of her face. 

“Okay. I’ll bring her back to my house. It’s warded, they won’t be able to track her there, or get to her either. Do you want me to come back for you?”

Klaus butted in, “Won’t you be exhausted?” 

Jaime bristled a little bit, but the tone of Klaus’ voice was not condescending, so she didn’t lash out. 

“No, I should be fine. I’ve apparated much longer distances before.” 

“No, it’s fine. We will need to stay in New Orleans and lay down a false trail for Mikael. If anyone witnesses you taking Davina, we are going to claim that we have no idea who you are. Once it’s clear, we will head back for Mystic Falls.” 

Kol reached into his pocket and threw it at Jaime, who caught it out of the air reflexively. 

“Put your number in my phone so that I can contact you if anything goes wrong.” 

Jaime quickly typed her own cell number in, saving it under _Jaime Black,_ just in case someone else looked through is phone and saw her all-too-recognizable name. 

She texted herself so she had his number, and then threw the phone back to him. 

Kol looked at it and raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Jaime Black?” 

“In case someone else looks at your phone,” she explained, opening her own phone to save his number. 

“Why Black?” 

“Generic last name, “ Jaime replied immediately without looking up, not really caring to tell them more than that. 

It _was_ a very generic last name in the Muggle world, but she had chosen it because of sentimentality. Maybe, if things had worked out better, she would have been raised as a Black. 

And, from the tiny bit of the Slytherin in Jaime, it was a silent warning if anyone from her world came across the phone.

Jaime knew that her name carried a lot of power with just ‘Potter.’ Beyond just the notoriety with her name in general, came power within the upper echelon of Wizarding Society. 

The Black family had been ‘The Ancient and Noble’ House of Black. At first, she had thought it was just pretension, but then Draco and Andromeda had told her more. 

Sirius had put into his will that if anything were to happen to him, Jaime would inherit everything. How he had done so, she had no idea, but that meant that not only his wealth, but the homes the Blacks owned all over the world, the influence of his name, everything, transferred to her. Although Sirius had been blasted off of the Black Family Tapestry, it meant nothing without an official disownment, which had never been done, surprisingly enough.

She held two seats on the Wizengamont, was effectively one of the most politically powerful witches in Britain, and that was without the mantle of ‘Savior of the Wizarding World’ laid too heavy on her shoulders.

It was sometimes hard to reconcile that fact that she was part of the ‘aristocracy’ of the Wizarding world when she had spent the first ten years of her life being treated the way she had been at the hands of the Dursley’s. 

Jaime cringed every time she thought about how others had called her “Lady Potter” as if she were some kind of royalty when she often still felt like that bruised, frightened small child often mistaken as a boy because of her hand-me-down clothing and scrawny frame.

But, if anyone from her world saw the name and knew anything about current events, it was a silent way of declaring that Kol was under Jaime’s protection; Potter would have had the same effect, but too many people outside of her world knew the name Jaime Potter. 

Bought back to reality, Jaime stood up abruptly, before she looked the other vampires who looked at her in confusion. 

“I am going to get some sleep in one of the bedrooms,” she announced as she headed to the stairs, calling over her shoulder, “Knock on the door when it is time for us to move.” 

She ducked blindly into one of the bedrooms and shut the door firmly behind her, warding it before she fully relaxed. 

The room was dusty, the furniture covered in drop-cloths as if the owners of the home had anticipated coming back and just never had. There was no mattress on the bed frame, just an old box-spring with questionable stains on it. 

Jaime grabbed one of the couch cushions off of the chaise in the corner of the room, setting it on the ground and quickly transfiguring it into a comfortable pallet. A few more quick transformations of other objects in the room - a table runner, a curtain - and she had a comfortable sleeping bag and fluffy pillow. 

She collapsed onto her make-shift bed, made sure the wards she put on the room were firmly in place, and let herself drift off to sleep. 

.  
.  
.  
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 _ **French Quarter, New Orleans**_  
_**July 19th**_

_“Hello Marcellus.”_

For a long moment, Marcel was frozen in place, wondering if he was just having a very vivid hallucination or if Niklaus Mikaelson were actually there. 

“Klaus,” he muttered, shaking his head and laughing aloud, “Damn, man, talk about a blast from the past.” 

Klaus chucked, before moving closer. He hesitated for a second, his expression shifting, before he settled on an arrogant smirk. 

“I hear you have gotten yourself into quite a predicament,” Klaus started, hands nonchalantly in his pockets. 

“What exactly did you hear? Cause I heard that your father got reawakened, and now all vampires should be worried,” Marcel deflected, slowly walking backwards from the church, careful to not let his eyes flash up to the attic window. 

As he hoped, Klaus fell in line with him, walking slowly with him back towards the main drag.

“I meant more along the lines of the superpower teenage witch you are hiding from the French Quarter witches, and their plot to awaken Mikael in hopes that you would die along with us and they could get her back. Multiple birds with one stone and all that,” Klaus countered, and Marcel immediately went on the defensive. 

How did he have all this information? 

“Well, you and I have definitely been feed different information tidbits.” 

Klaus stopped in the middle of the path, his expression uncharacteristically serious. 

“Marcellus, I am not here to cause problems. I am here to help,” and before Klaus could even finish, Marcel was laughing. 

“I never thought I would see the day that Niklaus Mikaelson claimed that he was just here to help someone, with nothing to be gained for himself,” Marcel threw the barb out, finding vindictive pleasure when Klaus flinched. 

“Well, brother, he certainly has not forgotten anything, has he?” 

Kol Mikaelson appeared out of nowhere then, a shit-eating smirk on his face. 

“Kol Mikaelson, as I live and breathe. You finally got let out of the coffin?” 

Kol shrugged, his face still relaxed in a pleasant expression. 

“Good behavior and all that jazz. Anyways, Marcel, we are honestly not here for you.” 

“Oh really?” Marcel crossed his arms across his chest.

“Honestly, I could care less if you’re the ‘King of New Orleans,’” Kol made quotation marks in the air with his hands, before motioning over his shoulder, “I am here about your lovely little witch. Davina.” 

Marcel stiffened. 

“How do you know about Davina?” He dropped all pretenses, hackles rising, teeth bared. 

“Down boy, I am not here for her power. Her great-aunt, Charlotte, is a vampire I happen to be acquainted with. Charlotte was chosen for the Harvest Festival two hundred years ago, and I turned her so she wouldn’t be sacrificed. She kept tabs on her family, called me when shit started to hit the fan down here. She wants to help Davina.” 

The sound of fast-moving air, and then there was a vaguely familiar vampire standing next to Kol, dressed in jeans and pretty floral tank top. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and she waved sheepishly. 

“Hi, I’m Charlotte. I’m Davina’s great-aunt by however many generations.” 

“So you want me to believe that you’re waltzing here into New Orleans to help Davina, and this has nothing to do with the fact that your father is now loose and Davina is the most powerful witch in the world now?” 

Marcel didn’t believe any of them. There was no way that they were here just to help Davina without any reward in it for them. 

“Believe it or not, we do have another ace in our hole to deal with our father, but we are honestly here just because of Charlotte, and what I owe her,” Kol continued, a little annoyed with how distrustful Marcel was being.

He hadn’t anticipated a running-to-hug-crying-in-joy reunion with the man who had been raised as his nephew (albeit he was daggered for most of it) but a little less annoyance and wariness would be appreciated. 

“What would it take for you to believe us?” Klaus snapped, frustration finally starting to get the best of him; he would also deny it until his dying day, but he was mildly hurt at how little Marcel seemed to care that they were there. 

If he had been alive all these years, why had he never sought them out? 

Marcel rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t know, you’re not exactly the most trustworthy lot!” 

“He’s not wrong.” 

Marcel caught the look of annoyance flash across Klaus’ face before he turned, another girl - this one human - walking up to the scene. 

Despite the summer heat of New Orleans, she was dressed in a pair of tight black pants, tucked into a pair of boots that were made out of a textured material he had never seen before. Her top was a plain gray tank top, a necklace with the end disappearing down her shirt, Her hair was loose around her face, in long black curls, and her eyes were the brightest green he had ever seen. 

She was beautiful, breathtakingly so, even with the scar on her forehead. 

“Love, I thought we told you to wait until you were called?” 

“I’m not a dog, arsehole, I don’t move on your command.” 

Once she started talking again, he realized she had an accent; British, a bit different than the Mikaelson’s, but still prominent. 

“Who is this now?” Marcel demanded. How many people knew about Davina? How badly was her safety jeopardized? 

The girl cocked her head to the side, studying him intently. She was young, probably only eighteen or nineteen; not much older than Davina. 

But there was something in her eyes, in the way that he held herself and analyzed everything around her, that made her seem so much older. 

She seemed to find something that she was looking for, because she pushed by the Originals and walked closer to him, sticking her hand out for him to shake. 

“My name is Jaime Potter. I am here to help Davina.” 

He shook her hand gingerly, but she did not seem too fazed by it. 

“And who the hell are you?” 

Jaime sighed, half-turning back to the others - blatantly ignoring Klaus, he noticed - and just went, “I’m gonna have to do the whole thing, aren’t I?”

Kol’s grin grew larger. 

“I think so, love.” 

“Fantastic,” Jaime muttered under her breath, before turning back and shrugging idly, going, “Jaime is a nickname. My first name is Harriet.” 

He stared at her uncomprehendingly for a long moment, before it clicked. 

British accent. Scar on her forehead. 

Harriet Potter. 

Holy _shit-_

“You’re kidding me,” he blurted out. 

Jaime shook her head. 

“Nope, it really is me. In the flesh and everything.” 

“Prove it,” he challenged. 

Jaime looked like he had just handed her a present; her grin was a little maniacal, but she flicked her hand, and all of a sudden, there was a wand in her palm. 

She cast a quick look around - there was no one but them in this little side-street, so far away from all the touristy sights and between main areas - and made direct eye contact with Klaus. 

The hybrid looked unsurprised, and he barely had the words, “Don’t even, sweetheart-“ out before Jaime called out gleefully, _“Levicorpus!”_

Like a string had been tied around his ankles, Klaus was hoisted dramatically up into the air upside-down, his arms dangling on either side of his head and an exasperated expression on his face. 

Kol laughed, his phone in hand as he took a photo of his brother’s discomfort. 

“Oh, love, this is perfect, you are going to have to do this all the time when we get back, Bekah is gonna be so mad she missed it-“

Charlotte was giggling herself, and Jaime looked supremely proud. 

Marcel was still reeling from the fact that this girl in front of him was actually one of the wand-wielders that he had heard so much about throughout history, but had never actually met. 

“Good enough to verify my identity?” Jaime turned to ask, ignoring Klaus where he was dangling in thin air. 

“For now, at least.”

.  
.  
.  
.

Jaime was unsure what to think of Marcel Gerard just yet.

The man was attractive, tall and broad, his features making him look like he was always about to break out into a wide grin. 

From what little Klaus and Kol had told her about him, they had found him in the early 1800s. Klaus had rescued him when he was a child from an abusive slave owner, and raised the boy as his own. They were separated in 1919, after World War I. They spent the remaining time believing that he was dead, but apparently he had been gaining control of New Orleans and is now essentially the King of the French Quarter.

From that alone, she had been picturing someone like Draco Malfoy; more than a little arrogant, proud, cold, distant. 

Marcel was not like that at all. He carried himself with pride, but there was none of the… _pretension_ that Klaus sometimes had.

They were inside a compound, and Marcel immediately motioned to the bar in the corner, going blithely, “Help yourselves.” 

Kol blurred over, gleefully grabbing a decanter of alcohol. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, pouring himself a generous amount before lounging back against the bar. 

Klaus was silent; she had taken him down from the air and he had been unamused, but not outrightly angry. 

There was something more at play in the interactions between Klaus and Marcel; she could sense it, but annoyingly could not put her finger on it.

“So, what exactly is your plan here?” Marcel demanded. 

Charlotte stepped forward, her expression wide an earnest. 

“I have a witch friend that owes me a favor. She has agreed to meet us in Mystic Falls, where she will draw out all the extra magic within Davina and release it back into the earth. Davina will be fine afterwards.” 

“She’s fine now,” Marcel challenged. 

“Yes, now she is, but all that magic is too much for any one person to hold onto. And even if Davina did go through with the rest of the Harvest ritual, the odds of her being resurrected like she should be are slim. She would be at the mercy of the ancestors for all that time, and they do not take kindly to those who are friendly with vampires,” Charlotte cautioned. 

Marcel gritted his teeth so hard Jaime could hear them grinding against each other. 

“Okay, so after Davina gets all the magic out of her, what happens?”

“Whatever you want,” Kol continued, shrugging. 

“She can stay with us in Mystic Falls, or go wherever her little heart desires. However, she need to know the she can never come back to New Orleans, not without the threat of death on her head.” 

Marcel turned then, to Jaime who was leaning against the bar, a glass in her own hand. 

“And why are you here with them? Why is Harriet Potter in America in the first place?”

“It was a trick of Fate,” Jaime explained, sipping on the bourbon and relishing the burn that crawled down her throat, “A friend of mine and I settled down in Mystic Falls hoping for a lovely vacation from the aftermath of the war in my world. Stumbled into this lot, and decided to do this one favor for them.” 

“Why?” Marcel demanded. 

Jaime paused for a long second, her hand drifting unconsciously to the scar that ran up her inner arm, before she looked him dead in the eyes and went, “I will never condone the hurting of children. Davina is an innocent child. No child should be hunted down, sacrificed, their blood poured out on the chopping block because some power-hungry adult calls for it.”

There was something there, a meeting of like-minded people, kindred spirits. Marcel’s expression softened by the smallest amount, and Jaime had the gut feeling that she had just said the best possible thing she could have. 

“So what are you going to do?” 

“I can Apparate, which means I can grab Davina and disappear and reappear almost instantly back in Mystic Falls.” 

“What?” 

“Watch,” Jaime put her glass down on the bar and crossed from one side of the room to the other. Once she was sure that everyone’s eyes were on her, she quickly turned and disappeared with a _crack,_ only to reappear behind the bar, grab her class, and disappear again.

She was then up on the balcony above them, leaning against the wood and holding her glass teasingly in one hand. 

“And you can do that all the way back to Virginia?” Marcel asked in disbelief. 

“I can do that all the way back to New York City, if you wanted me to.” 

“Is there any limitation?” 

“I have to have been there or know where I am going. Distance can be a limit, depending, but I have had practice going further than most people. Davina might get a little nauseous, but she won’t be hurt.” 

“Could you take two people?” 

Jaime hesitated. 

“Maybe. Once you go beyond just one person, there is a chance that someone might get hurt. It would be better if I took Davina to Mystic Falls, came back, and then took the second person. Who would I be taking?” 

Marcel grinned up at her, ignoring the others in the room. 

“Me.” 

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 _ **St. Anne’s Church, New Orleans**_  
_**July 19th**_  
_**11:30pm**_

Davina waited nervously, all but vibrating with restrained energy. She picked at her nails absentmindedly, her gaze on the door. 

Father Kieran had passed on a message to her from Marcel. All it had been was two words: _Be ready._

Davina had quickly changed into clothes she could move in easily; a pair of old, worn jeans, a comfortable shirt, sneakers, and her favorite sweatshirt. Her hair was braided back tightly out of her face. She made sure she had her phone in her pocket, and her wallet in the other. Everything else - her drawings, her clothes, her art supplies - she could buy somewhere else. 

The one bit of sentimentality she let herself keep was the necklace that Marcel had given her for her birthday when she was in hiding; it was a simple necklace, but it meant the world to her. The tiny cursive D rested at the hollow of her throat, and she refused to leave it behind. 

Two short knocks at her door had her jumping to her feet. 

“Come in,” she called, proud when her voice didn’t shake. 

Marcel walked in, two others close behind him. She immediately recognized the man behind him as the vampire from her dreams. 

“Klaus Mikaelson,” she gasped out, her eyes narrowing with intent as her fingers twitched, magic gathering in the palm of her hand ready to be used as a weapon if needed. 

“It’s alright, D, they’re here to help,” Marcel soothed, quickly crossing the room to wrap her up in a hug. 

“I’m Charlotte,” the woman behind Klaus quickly introduced herself, crossing over to Marcel’s side. She was pretty, with curly light brown hair, her eyes warm and welcoming. Her eyes were covered with a faint sheen of tears. 

“I’m your great-aunt, actually. I’ll explain more later, but I was chosen for the Harvest Ritual when I was your age, two hundred years ago. I had a vampire turn me instead, because I knew the Elders lied. I am going to make sure that you are safe, okay? I know you don’t know me, but I promise.” 

Davina was hesitant, of course she was. But her magic whispered in her ears that she could trust this woman; that her words rang true, and that she meant Davina no harm. 

“What’s happening?” She asked, turning to look up at Marcel. 

Marcel gently cupped her face with his hands. 

“I am getting you out of here. Charlotte knows a witch that will pull the extra magic out of you before it can burn you out. The Mikaelsons are going to keep you safe, okay?”

“What about you?” 

“I am going to go with you to Mystic Falls for a little bit, just until your magic is released. Then, I’m going to need to come right back and handle the chaos. But this isn’t the last you’ll see of me, not by a long shot, I promise.” 

Davina wanted to scream. She didn’t want to leave him! 

“Marcel-“

“I know, I know,” he gently shushed her, clearly reading the distress on her face, “But you’ll be safe, and that’s all that matters.” 

Davina allowed herself a moment to just clutch him tightly, to let him support her weight and hide her from the world.

“Come on,” he whispered into the top of her head, “We’re getting you out of here now.” 

Out of the attic room that had been her cage but also her protection, down the stairs into the church. Father Kieran was there, standing in between the pews with two others. 

Another vampire - _Kol Mikaelson_ \- and an unfamiliar woman, who didn’t look significantly older than Davina. She was magic, Davina could sense it off of her, but it was…different. 

Most other witches’ auras were of nature; storms, rain, sunshine, grass, forests, showing where their magic came from. This girl…her magic was curling and spiraling within her, underneath her skin. The back of Davina’s mouth tasted like metal, ozone, and sparks. 

“Davina Claire, I presume?” 

Kol Mikaelson was suddenly in front of her, a smirk on his face as he stared at her face. 

“Well, Charlotte, I can certainly see the family resemblance. Beauty must run down the line.” 

Davina blinked up at him before she blurted out her first thought without thinking. 

“Seriously? That’s the line you go for?” 

Kol laughed, bright and brilliant. 

“Wow, I like her. You’re going to fit in perfectly, darling.” 

Father Kieran shoved by the others, cupping his hands on her shoulders. Her eyes burned with tears. 

She would miss him. She would miss their long talks, how he never made her feel like a child, how he treated her with respect and kindness when he never had to. 

“I’m going to miss you, child. Stay safe, alright?” Father Kieran smiled at her, but she could see the grief and sadness behind his expression. 

“I will. You too, alright? Stay safe.” 

“I will. Maybe one day we will see each other again, and you will be able to tell me all about your own travels in this great big world.” 

“I would like that,” she swallowed harshly, hugging him tightly, “I would like that a lot.” 

He gently hugged her back, brushing a warm hand over the back of her head and down the line of her braid, before he pulled back. 

The black-haired girl, the one who tasted of magic so different from her own, came forward. 

“Hello Davina. I’m Jaime Potter. I am going to take you to Mystic Falls, alright?” 

She had a British accent, her tone melodious. 

“How-“

Jaime smiled kindly, but then her head whipped around so fast her own curls smacked her in the face. 

“What is it?”

Davina spread out her own magic, trying to sense what made Jaime jerk, and gasped aloud herself. 

“The witches are here,” the two girls said in unison. 

Immediately, everyone around her started moving quickly. 

Charlotte and Kol sped for the doors, slamming into them and holding them shut. 

Klaus cursed viciously under his breath, and Marcel whirled to Jaime. 

“Take her, take her _now-“_

Jaime turned and grabbed Davina’s hand - 

And the doors burst inwards. 

A wave of magic slammed into all of them, sending them flying backwards. 

Father Kieran groaned low in his throat as he was slammed into the pulpit, crumbling there on the rock, knocked out from the force of the blow. 

Charlotte and Kol had gone flying when the doors slammed into them, Charlotte into a bunch of pews and Kol into a stone pillar. 

Jaime had been flung farther from Davina, almost to the other side of the church, narrowly missing being thrown through a stained-glass window. 

Davina had been flung onto the stairs leading up to the alter, the stone unforgiving. All the air rushed out of her, her ribs screaming in pain as she tried in vain to suck in a breath. 

Marcel and Klaus were scrambling to their feet, only to crumple with pained gasps as two witches stepped forward, holding their hands out and vicious expressions on their face. 

Agnes, one of the only remaining witch elders, was at the forefront. Sophie and Jane-Anne Deveraux were right behind her, hands raised ready. About five more witches were with them, including one at the back that looked like she could be a witch elder as well. 

“You are going nowhere with that girl,” Agnes snarled at the two vampires at her feet. 

Davina scrambled to her feet, fear and pain making her clumsy. Instinctively, she threw out both hands, magic blasting out of them. No spell, no concentration, just a bone-deep need to get the others away from her - 

Agnes deflected the blast into a stained glass window, which shattered with spectacular force. 

Charlotte and Kol were suddenly on their feet; Kol was vicious, the veins under his eyes writhing black as he snarled, snapping necks of two more witches that were not fast enough to defend themselves. 

He didn’t move fast enough; one of the remaining witches turned her attention to him, and soon he was on his knees as well, clutching his head and screaming in pain. 

Charlotte was suddenly there next to Davina, eyes blown wide with fear. 

“Come on, we need to go-“

Before Charlotte could grab her niece, she was flung through the air again, held in place against the stone even as she struggled. 

Sophie strode forward, determined, and Davina screamed in rage. 

_“STAY AWAY FROM ME!”_

All the power of the other Harvest Girls flowed through her, hot as fire, and Sophie was halted in place as an invisible wall slammed up around Davina. 

“You need to come with us, you need to complete the ritual!” Sophie snarled, fiercely trying to push through the barrier. 

“No! They’re _lying,_ don’t you get that!?” Davina screamed back. 

“Knock her out!” Agnes ordered, striding forward to help Sophie. 

And that was when all hell broke loose. 

With a crack, Jaime was standing at the end of the aisle in front of the damaged doors, behind the French Quarter witches. Her hair was sparking at the ends, and her eyes were all but glowing. 

“You lay one hand on that girl,” Jaime snarled, her voice echoing over the stones, “and I will have you choking on your own blood.” 

“Who the hell are you?” Sophie blurted out over her shoulder. 

Jaime flicked her wrist, and her wand was in hand and pointed at all of them. 

“I will not ask again. Leave, now.” 

“You have no authority here, wand-wielder,” Agnes snarled, her expression going dark. 

“Unlike you all,” Jaime bit out, “my magic is my own, and I need no authority to stop murder. Leave, _now.”_

The witch that was closest to her - another elder, she assumed from her age - whirled around with a yell. The pew nearest her was thrown through the air towards Jaime. 

_“Reducto!”_

The wood shattered into a thousand pieces, falling to the ground all around them all. Jaime didn’t flinch, nor did she hesitate. 

_“Stupefy! Incarcerous!”_

The witch collapsed to the ground, ropes conjured to keep her tied up if she awakened. 

Clearly seeing the threat that Jaime possessed, every single one of them still standing abandoned the vampires they were torturing and turned to her. 

Sophie and Agnes kept their attention on Davina, Sophie trying to break through her barrier while Agnes stood guard behind her, eyes on the fight. 

Marcel and Klaus were panting, the sudden end to the pain leaving them stunned. Kol scrambled to his feet, stumbling slightly. 

Jaime only had time to knock out the witch elder before the Originals were back in the game, taking down the remaining with minimal fuss. 

Agnes bellowed in fury, conjuring fire balls and throwing them with little care, just aiming to damage. 

Jaime ducked as one whirled over her head, before she stepped forward one last time, calling out, _“Stupefy!”_ and watching dispassionately as Agnes collapsed into a pile at her feet. 

Sophie whirled around when Agnes was no longer at her side, and cried out in anguish when she saw her sister crumpled on the ground, her neck at an unnatural angle. 

“Enough,” Marcel commanded, striding towards Sophie and quickly wrapping his hand around her throat, squeezing hard enough to cut off her scream. 

“There has been enough blood shed here tonight,” he snarled, his own vampire features coming out with his anger, “And I will kill you too if you keep this up, past history or no.” 

Sophie choked, trying to draw air, her fingers clawing uselessly at his wrist. 

Marcel kept his grip for a moment longer, before letting her go, the woman crumpling in front of him. Tears fell down her cheeks rapidly, and she coughed as she struggled to breathe in more air. 

“I know you just want your niece back,” Marcel said, calming down slightly, “But your Elders are liars. There is no guarantee that the Ancestors will resurrect the girls. And I will not condone the murder of more children, do you understand me?” 

Sophie didn’t say anything, just curled up around her knees and cried. 

“Take your dead, consecrate them. But tell your Elders, those that are still alive, that they are alive because of the mercy of someone else, not because of me. And if they cross that line again, I will not hesitate.” 

He stepped around her, before hurrying to Davina, who was still standing at the alter, panting, fear twisting her features.

“Hey, hey, it’s fine, it’s over. Come on, we’re getting you out of here,” he whispered, carefully taking her hand and leading her down the steps. 

Jaime turned in time to see Kol and Klaus hovering over the bodies of the two witches she had taken down. 

“We should just kill them,” Kol whispered, looking over to his brother, “Otherwise they are going to just rise up again and make more trouble.” 

Klaus wasn’t looking at his brother. His gaze was on Marcel, who was leading Davina over to Jaime. After he did, he went back to Sophie, his expression blank as he took in the crying woman. Marcel sighed, before he crouched down and pulled the crying witch to her feet, even as she jerked out of his grip. She whirled and stormed out of the church, and Marcel then went to check on Father Kieran. 

The priest was still unconscious, but Marcel carefully bit into his wrist, pouring the blood into the priest’s mouth, massaging his throat to make sure it went down all the way. Then, he scooped him up and disappeared up the stairs, presumably to the attic where there was a bed. 

“No,” Klaus muttered as Marcel disappeared and then came back, “It is Marcel’s city. Let him handle it.” 

Kol looked at his brother in surprise, but before he could say anything, Charlotte stumbled up, cursing under her breath as she limped. 

Her leg had gotten caught by one of the fire balls Agnes had cast, and while her skin was rapidly healing, it must have hurt like a bitch. 

“Can we go home now?” Charlotte leaned against a pew, her shoulders dropping in exhaustion as she took the weight off of her injured leg. 

“Yes,” Jaime reached out a hand again for Davina to take, and the poor teenager took it absently, her eyes wide and expression glazed. Marcel was watching the young girl with concern, his lips pressed tightly together as he reluctantly let her go. 

“Come on,” Jaime whispered as comfortingly to Davina as she could, “We’re going to get you out of here now. I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable.” 

And with a quick half-turn, an echoing _crack!,_ the two witches disappeared out of the church.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *insert the gif of Mushu rising from the smoke: I LIVEEEEE*
> 
> well...hello friends, it has certainly been a hot sec, hasn't it?
> 
> I apologize so much for the hiatus that this has been under, real life has kind of smacked me in the face. I am trying to always be a written chapter ahead of my work now, so that I can still update when life gets this way, and I thank you all so, so much for your patience. 
> 
> also, you might have noticed that this fic is now a part of a series...yes, that's right, I am going to be posting a prequel fic to this - which has turned into a fucking MONSTER - and potentially other flashback scenes that I want to reference in "carry your torches" even if they do not fit into the chapters
> 
> thank you all so, so, SO much for your comments, they are literally my life's blood. please keep them coming! also, it's gonna be my birthday on August 10th, and if ya'll wanna get me a gift...just type them up and put them in the little comment box! love you all, hope you have a fantastic day!
> 
> feel free to come join me on [tumblr!](https://chase-the--wind.tumblr.com/)


	8. eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alliance is made, Davina's magic is released back into the earth, and Luna and Jaime finally get to have a girl's day with Caroline and Bonnie. 
> 
> Meanwhile, news of the Chosen One's presence in America starts spreading, and an enemy slithers out of the shadows.

**_July 20th, 1:00pm_**  
**_Mystic Falls, Virginia_**  
**_The Original Family’s Manor_**

Jaime pulled into the front drive of the Original Family’s home, a large and much-needed thermos of coffee sitting in the cupholder. Luna was in the passenger seat, looking as serene as ever, holding her own carry-away mug of tea. 

Jaime didn’t move once she put the car in park, and neither did Luna. 

“Are you sure about this?” Jaime asked quietly, her eyes on the house in front of her and hands still gripping the steering wheel with both hands. Her knuckles were a bit white from the force of her grip.

Luna’s laid a soft hand on her forearm. 

“If you are really uncomfortable about this Jaime, we don’t have to.” 

“No, I…I trust you, Luna. I know I didn’t really listen before, but I’m listening now.” 

Luna didn’t say anything, for which Jaime was grateful. She deserved the guilt she carried, and she didn’t need Luna trying to alleviate it.

There was a lot about Luna that Jaime would never understand, but that was fine; she didn’t need to understand the girl in order to trust her, or to love her.

That was a lesson harshly earned; pride goeth before the fall and all that jazz. 

“What was is about Elijah that convinced you of this?” Jaime asked Luna, genuinely curious. 

Luna cocked her head to the side, staring up at the house as if she could see straight through the walls to the hearts of its occupants. Maybe she could. 

“His eyes,” Luna started, “reminded me of Draco’s, and of Theo’s and Blaise’s.” 

“What?” 

“They have the same look in them. The one of an innocent soul forcibly tarnished, still trying to be good. Desperate to protect what is theirs. Someone who might not have always made the right choices, but made them for the right reasons.” 

Jaime’s heart clenched at the reminder of Draco. 

A flash of sense memories threatened to overwhelm her - _mercury eyes, pupils blown wide in fear, in desire, in pain, his blood coating her hands, the scent of his hair, always smelling like vanilla and amber even when they were three weeks deep in the forest without showers, the sound of his heart beating, his morning-hoarse voice in her ear, his screams for her to run, the taste of fire whiskey and salty tears on her tongue as she kissed him, sweat-soaked skin and his grip strong enough to bruise her hips, the feeling of him burying his face in her neck even as he buried himself in her -_

The look in his eyes from a distance after that Final Battle, war-weary and fearful as he expected her to turn her wand on him last. 

The relief and pain when she merely inclined her head and turned away. 

The flash of heartbreak he hadn’t been able to hide when she did. 

More guilt for her to carry. 

_I left without saying goodbye, without telling him, I ran away like a coward -_

She had tried, Merlin help her, she had tried so hard to be the light at the end of the tunnel for Draco. They had clung to each other in the war, the only other person who somewhat understood what it was like to have the expectations of so many on their shoulders. Her, a Paragon of the Light, him, the supposed Prince of Darkness. 

She hadn’t been able to save Draco, not in the ways that really mattered. She probably had only made things worse. Her hands were so stained and slippery with blood, her mind so rattled from the pain and anguish and grief, that when he tried to hand her his oh-so-delicate heart, she caused more damage trying to protect it than if she had just left well enough alone. 

He would never hate her for it, she knew, but he should. 

So she would hate herself enough for him. 

If Luna saw in Elijah what Jaime saw in Draco…Jaime could not blame her friend for wanting to help. 

And Jaime had no doubt that Luna would be a much better savior for Elijah than she would ever be for Draco. 

Jaime forced herself to sit up straighter, release the steering wheel, and paste a bright expression on her face. It would not fool Luna, but she was hoping it would fool everyone else. 

“Alright then,” her voice was too high-pitched, enough to make her wince slightly before she toned it down, “We’re in this then. Let’s go help them with Davina, cement this alliance, and then get down to planning, shall we?” 

Luna stared at her with too-knowing eyes, a touch of sympathy in her gaze. Jaime felt anxiety close her throat, and she needed to get _out of the car_ \- 

She whirled, unbuckling her seatbelt with jerky movements, all but falling out of the driver’s side before she composed herself. Her breathing was harsh, but the warm, muggy air was like a slap in the face to get herself together. 

Luna crossed around the car at a much more sedate pace, handing Jaime her coffee that she had left in the car. As Jaime took it, Luna carefully entwined her fingers with Jaime’s free hand. A soothing, familiar squeeze of her hand around hers, and then Luna was leading the way up to the house. 

Kol opened the door, a bright smile on his face as if he did not just spend the early morning hours driving the car all the way back from New Orleans. 

“Hello, lovely ladies, come on in,” he gestured grandly, and the two witches walked in. 

The front hall was huge, but elegant. She could see the hints of the antebellum charm, combined with modern renovations and accents. The large staircase curved gracefully to the second floor, and on the landing Jaime could see Charlotte talking with Marcel. 

Davina had managed the Apparation fairly well the night before, but Marcel had been driven to his knees by the sensation. Still, he recovered fast, and he was remarkably polite to her when she finally left, heading gratefully home. 

Kol had texted her in the morning that Charlotte’s witch friend was going to come that afternoon to release the magic, and he would like her to be there. He, Klaus, and Charlotte had driven back, arriving around ten or eleven in the morning.

Klaus was nowhere to be seen, but Jaime had no doubt he was going to show up like a bad penny. 

Kol had also gleefully informed her that Marcel and Rebekah were once lovers, and that his sister’s joy of the fact Marcel was alive was tempered by her fury and betrayal that he had never once sought them out, letting her grieve him for decades. 

He had texted her: _I cannot wait to see her rip into him, it will be almost as delightful as seeing you put Nik in his place._

Jaime didn’t know what to make of that. 

Rebekah was lucky. She was getting someone she loved back from the grave, she was getting to see a face she thought she lost. 

Jaime tried not to be bitterly jealous. 

The “Scooby Gang,” as Klaus referred to the other Mystic Falls vampires and friends, were not coming to the house. Jaime was slightly disappointed; she would have liked to see Caroline again. 

She made a mental note to text the blond vampire; they had been on their way to being fast friends, she didn’t see why they couldn’t continue on that path. 

Davina was sitting in the front window, her head turning to follow Jaime and Luna as they walked in with Kol. 

She looked exhausted, but her eyes were bright and missed nothing. She was dressed in different clothes than the night before, which hung on her frame. It must be some of Kol or Klaus’ clothes. 

“Hi, I’m Luna Lovegood.” 

Luna crossed the room to plop down next to Davina on the window seat, kicking off her sandals and curling her legs up underneath her. Davina looked a little shocked by the abrupt introduction, but she gave the blond a genuine smile.

“Davina Claire.” 

The two shook hands, and Luna immediately launched into a conversation with Davina about her conflicting aura’s, and wasn’t it confusing to have so many portions of herself vying for control?

Jaime was ready to intercede, not wanting this teenager to hurt Luna’s feelings inadvertently, but Davina merely smiled and shrugged, replying, “I think it’s because of all the other magic I am carrying. It is not mine, it still holds some of the characteristics of the other girls, which is why I seem like a jumbled mess.” 

Luna looked fascinated, and soon the two girls were deep in a conversation about the intrinsic characteristics of Davina’s magic, how it felt to carry others, and everything that came along with it. 

Jaime backed away, sufficiently surprised but happy. 

“She’s an enigma, isn’t she?” 

Elijah came up behind her, purposefully making noise which Jaime appreciated. 

The eldest Mikaelson was dressed as formally as he had been the previous day, in a perfectly fitting black suit, black button-up underneath, a perfectly knotted tie as well. Not a single hair was out of place, and Jaime wondered idly how long it took him to look so put together. 

“She is special,” Jaime said without any trace of sarcasm in her words. Luna was special. 

“Miss Lovegood said that she was going to talk to you today,” Elijah lead, carefully measured words so that he did not inadvertently reveal anything. 

It was the kind of careful wordplay that Jaime expected out of him. The old-fashioned way of speaking without saying anything of important and overplaying your hand combined with his aristocratic features made Elijah look like someone right out of a period novel. 

She normally would make a comment of how Luna talks to her everyday, but she felt like that kind of joking would not be appropriate for this conversation with Elijah. 

Jaime turned, looking up into Elijah’s eyes intently, trying to see what it was that Luna had told her. 

She was not as good as reading people’s eyes as Luna was; Luna could see their entire heart, their motivations, hopes and dreams and shames, all without flaws. It was a strength that Jaime wished she had. 

But she could see what Luna meant. Elijah’s eyes were dark brown, framed by long dark lashes, but there was something of Draco in there. The fierce yet weary strength, an antique sense of honor that often was at odds in this modern world.

But the Wizarding world was similar; that sense of honor wa familiar o her. 

Elijah didn’t look away from her intense gaze; instead, he stood there calmly, waiting for her to be done. 

“Yes, Mr. Mikaelson,” Jaime said simply. 

“Yes?” 

“Yes, we will enter into some kind of alliance with you against your father. We will hammer out terms, but…we have stopped one genocidal maniac before. What is one more?” 

Elijah’s eyes flashed, an intense expression of gratitude and hope flickering across his face for a fraction of a second before the cool mask of gentility settled back over; his smile was small, but still warm and genuine, the only outward display he kept. 

“Thank you, Miss Potter. You and Miss Lovegood are…helping more than you know.” 

Jaime shrugged blithely, waving her hand through the air as if she were brushing his words away, a faint blush spreading over her cheeks. 

“Call me Jaime.” 

A small smile.

“Then, call me Elijah.”  
.  
.  
.  
.

Rebekah walked into the house about ten minutes later, poised as a queen. She had not hesitated once since she had driven her car into the driveway, stepping out with an iced coffee in her hand. 

Her hair was artfully pulled back off of her face in a low bun, some wisps falling forward to frame her face. Flawless makeup, cool expression, dressed comfortably but fashionably in a pair of ripped black jeans, heeled boots, and a loose-fitting white tank top.

Marcel was standing just behind Davina, but his eyes didn’t leave Rebekah from the moment that she stepped into her house. 

Rebekah didn’t even cast a look in his direction before she addressed Kol and Charlotte. 

“The witch that you called in to help, Morgan, she is en route. She texted me about five minutes ago,” she announced, before purposefully turning to scan the room. 

Jaime found herself smiling widely; she was interested to see how this went down as well. 

“Lovegood, Potter, good to see you again. Potter, thank you for making sure my idiot brothers did not get killed down in New Orleans.” 

Jaime nodded, accepting the blond girl’s thanks wordlessly.

Rebekah crossed the room and offered her hand to Davina, who was watching the proceedings with a confused look on her fact. 

“Rebekah Mikaelson. I’m assuming you’re Davina Claire?”

Davina shook her hand, her brows pulled down in a confused furrow. 

“Yes, I am,” she said slowly, casting a look over her shoulder up at Marcel. 

Marcel was standing there with an amused smirk, his arms tightly crossed. 

Rebekah finally looked up and made eye contact with Marcel, and her face broke out into a brilliant smile, clearly dazzling the man who dropped his arms and looked at her in confusion. 

“Marcellus, wonderful to see you,” she side-stepped, her arms half-extended as if she were going to give him a hug. 

“You too, Rebekah, you too,” he replied, hesitantly stepping forward to hug her as well. 

Quick as a flash, she had his arm in her own hands, twisting it around so she was standing behind him, his arm overextended. He groaned in pain, she gave a quick kick to the groin that had him doubling over, and then she had another hand wrapped tightly around his ankle, and without another word, he was sailing through the front window. 

Marcel landed with a thud on the front yard, groaning in pain. 

Rebekah straightened, a small smile still on her lips. Not a single hair was out of place, and she straightened her shirt, turning around to face the room. She picked up the iced coffee she had put down, taking a dainty sip. 

Luna and Davina were looking at Rebekah, expressions of contemplation and shock respectively. Kol and Klaus were laughing, and Charlotte had a hand pressed over her mouth as if she were trying to hide her own reaction. Elijah was simply rubbing his temple in exasperation, but he did not look surprised. 

Jaime was grinning maniacally from where she had watched the whole thing go down. 

“Well then,” Rebekah started, crossing to the front hall where she had dropped a purse, “Shall we get everything set up?” 

.  
.  
.  
.

At Elijah’s exasperated and slightly pleading look, Luna cast a _“Reparo,”_ at the window that Rebekah had thrown Marcel through. Davina had looked fascinated at her magic, and Luna was looking forward to comparing spell casting with the girl once this was taken care of for her. 

Rebekah crossed to sit down next to Jaime, and upon seeing the smile on the British girl’s face, Rebekah merely raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

“Merlin, you remind me of one of my best friends,” Jaime admitted as Rebekah settled herself down on the comfortable sofa. 

“How so?” 

Jaime remembered how Ginny had been absolutely ruthless once she had come into her own. 

“She is the youngest in a family of seven, and the only girl.” 

“Oof,” Rebekah made a noise of shock, continuing to sip at her iced coffee, “That must be rough.”

“She learned very quickly that she had to be vicious if she wanted to come out on top,” Jaime explained. 

“Of course,” Rebekah agreed, motioning around her, “Us ladies in families of all men need to learn how to take zero shit.” 

“Ain’t that the truth,” Jaime muttered, crossing her arms and turning her gaze back to the room. 

A few minutes later, Marcel limped slightly into the room, wincing and hissing as his broken bones started to heal and realign themselves. He cast a bitter glance to the back of Rebekah’s head, but she was now on her phone and was not paying any attention to him. 

He honestly didn’t know why he expected anything else. 

“Well then, now that…reunions are over, where is Morgan?” Klaus asked, crossing the room to sit on the sofa across from his sister and Jaime. 

“She’s close. Should be here in a few minutes,” Kol answered from his perch with Davina and Luna. 

“Actually, she’s here now,” Rebekah stood up and left the sitting room, returning a few moments later with an unfamiliar witch following her. 

She looked to be about mid-twenties. She was dressed simply in jeans and a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves pushed up to her elbow. Her hair was dyed a bright purple, and she had a piercing in her eyebrow. 

“Hey, Aunt Charlotte,” she called carelessly, dropping her bag by the side of the couch and hugging Charlotte who smiled at her and embraced her gently. 

“Aunt?” Davina questioned. 

“Ahh, little Davina!” 

Morgan crossed the room and hugged the confused teenager, who just stood and endured it awkwardly. 

“Yes. I am another one of your aunts, technically,” Morgan answered Davina, ruffling the girl’s hair with a cheeky grin. 

“I thought…I thought I didn’t have any other family aside from my mother,” Davina admitted. 

“Well, in the witch world, it’s a little twisted and convoluted. I am the daughter of your grandmother’s sister, but because of magic and my mother’s preoccupation with using magic to stay young, I was born a little bit later in her life, which is why I am closer to your age. Also why I was not raised in New Orleans. The Elders had problems with my mom’s attempts to stay young. Try not to think about it overmuch, it gives me a headache.” 

Davina still looked confused, but she just rolled with it. 

“Um, so how are we going to do this?” 

Morgan became more serious as she examined her niece. 

“Well, this is the tricky bit. I am going to need to extract the magic that does not belong to you out, but I don’t want to touch your own intrinsic magic. So, we are going to have to do this carefully. You were the last girl, so you are fire.” 

“I am?”

“That’s why there is always four,” Charlotte jumped in, “For the elements of the earth. Air, water, earth, and then fire.” 

“Do you know the fire-summoning spell?”

“Um, in theory, but I have never done it. We were warned it could become too powerful to control,” Davina said sheepishly. 

“Fire has that tendency,” Jaime chimed in, memories of the Fiendfyre that had almost killed them in the Room of Requirement.

“So, what we need to do is have you cast that spell. Your magic will be the one to rush to do it, since it is most closely aligned to the spell. While you do that, I am going to extract the other magic out of you, but it’s going to hurt. It’s going to take a lot of concentration on your part to focus on the fire, otherwise we risk taking your magic as well.” 

Davina looked a little sick and scared, but she nodded.

Morgan cupped her face in a surprisingly maternal gesture. 

“Don’t worry, little one. You’re strong, and once the extra magic is out of you, you will no longer be in danger.” 

.  
.  
.  
.

After consulting with the Original Family, Morgan had them all head out to a clearing in the woods behind the Manor. It was almost perfectly circular, and, most importantly, was not already touched with magic. 

Morgan got to work immediately, pulling this-and-that out of her bag, making a large circle with other symbols around the outer edges with practiced ease. Davina watched curiously, even though she was wringing her hands with her nervousness. 

“Sit here,” Morgan pointed to the center of the chalk and salt circle. Davina stepped over the outer lines, careful not to mess them up, and then sat down with her legs crossed, hands in her lap. 

“What does the chalk and salt do?” Jaime asked curiously from where she watched on the outside of the clearing. 

Charlotte was standing next to her, chewing on the corner of her thumb as she watched Morgan set everything up. She and the rest of the vampires were on the fringes where they would not be in the way, except for Marcel who was standing as close to Davina as he could.

“It contains any magic that might lash out, so that the caster is not in harms way,” Charlotte explained absentmindedly. 

Once Davina was settled, Morgan looked up with a smile and announced for everyone to hear, “I am almost ready to start.” 

Jaime watched with interest as Davina immediately turned to look at Marcel, her young face twisting fear. 

Marcel carefully reached out to cup the side of her face, avoiding the salt and chalk lines. She leaned into him immediately, seeking comfort from his touch. 

“It’s going to be okay, D,” he reassured in a soothing voice, his eyes never leaving hers.

“I…I’m scared,” Davina admitted, and Jaime was sympathetic to the young girl; this was something that forced upon her, and she was the one who would have to suffer to get it all fixed. 

“I know, and that’s okay,” Marcel reassured without missing a beat, “It’s okay to be scared. But you’re going to be safe once this is all over. It’s going to hurt, which I wish I could take from you, but then it will all be over and you will never again have to step foot in New Orleans.” 

Davina visibly steeled herself, and when Morgan came back over to start the ritual, Davina turned to face her with her back straight and her shoulders stiffened, a look of determination on her face. 

“I’m ready.” 

.  
.  
.  
.

Morgan started chanting in Latin, arms half-raised, palms facing the ground and fingers spread wide. Her eyes were closed in concentration, her voice steady and strong. 

Davina was still sitting in the middle of the circle, a small ball of flames in between two cupped hands. Her eyes were closed in concentration as well. 

Jaime could feel the magic building up in the air around her, the pressure making her ears pop. 

It was strange to be surrounded by magic that was so different to her own. It was old, ancient, it felt much more elemental and out of control than her own. It was like a wild horse, just barely tame enough to take saddle, threatening to buck off and regain control at a moment's notice.

Wind whipped through the clearing, sending their hair flying. Still, Morgan did not falter; her voice remained steady, even as the words rushed out out of her faster and faster. 

Davina’s face was getting sweaty, and her hands were trembling even as the flames in her hand burned brighter. She was breathing heavily, and her face started to twist with pain. Tears started to well underneath her closed eyelids and streak down her face silently. 

Morgan’s chanting crested, the wind fierce enough now that it was causing branches to shift, the trees to groan with the abuse, and Davina was screaming through clenched teeth, the flames in her hand now almost blue with the heat they were generating. 

And just when the pressure of the magic is starting to _hurt,_ when it feels like the wind will knock her right off her feet, just as Davina can no longer scream and her mouth is open in a silent wail and her flames a white hot burn, and Morgan’s words are almost being screamed, it all _stops._

It is so sudden that Jaime is dizzy with the silence, almost stumbles from how hard she had been bracing against the wind. Morgan is panting, collapsed on her knees, eyes wide. Davina is curled up on her side now in the center of the circle, eyes still closed and cheeks wet with tears, a small ball of orange flames still crackling in her hands. 

Morgan manages to pant out, “It’s done, she’s fine, the magic is gone-“ before Marcel is sprinting into the circle, on his knees next to the fallen girl. 

“Davina, D, it’s me, you’re fine, you’re safe-“

Davina shudders when Marcel touches her, and her voice sounds young and fragile when she asks, “Is it done? Is it over?”

“Yes, you did so well, you can stop the flames now, it’s all over.” 

Davina opens her eyes, eyelashes clumped together with her tears, and the ball of flames in her hands extinguishes. Her hands are trembling, and she looks beyond exhausted, but when she makes eye contact with Marcel, all that is there is relief.

The weight that she carried, the burning power of the others girls that was not hers is gone. She feels at peace in her own body now, the extra magic no longer sparking and tumbling beneath her skin, making her anxious and hyperaware.

He gathers her up in a hug, and she barely has the energy to wrap her arms around his neck, but she somehow manages. She collapses, trusting him to take her weight and to protect her. And as she fades into unconsciousness, the relief she feels is almost indescribable. 

It’s over. 

She’s _safe._

.  
.  
.  
.

_**July 24st**_  
_**Mystic Falls, Virginia**_

Caroline sighed and flopped onto her back, continuing to glare at her ceiling as if it had personally wronged her. 

Bonnie sat cross-legged at the head of Caroline’s bed, reading a grimoire and taking notes on a pad of paper balanced on her knee.

“Come on Care, what’s wrong?” Bonnie asked without looking up from what she was doing. 

Caroline hauled herself upwards to face her friend, a pout on her face. 

“I am just upset,” Caroline admitted, “I feel like I was becoming friends with Jaime and Luna and now…now I think it’s all ruined by everything that happened.” 

“Is that why we are hiding in your room on this beautiful morning?” Bonnie asked wryly. 

“No, we are hiding because I don’t really want to talk to Elena right now,” Caroline admitted, some guilt creeping into her tone. 

After the truce had been called and Elena had made the deal with Klaus, Caroline had thought that everything would mellow out. Now, without the distraction of the threat on her life, the drama between Elena, Damon, and Stefan had reached untold of heights. Elena was still trying to “fix” Stefan, Damon was still vying for her affection, and Elena was still torn between her feelings for the two brothers. 

Jeremy had been back for a week to visit from Colorado by chance when they had all met, but he had gone back a few days after. And Elena was happy that her brother was happy, but she had been devastated that Jeremy had not wanted to stick around Mystic Falls. 

Caroline didn’t blame him; if she had the option, she would have left too. It was why she was secretly applying to colleges out of state, why she and her mother had been talking about moving away from Mystic Falls permanently. 

It was all becoming too much to deal with, and Caroline was tired of it. 

“What is it this time?” Bonnie asked exasperatedly. 

“She is still on Stefan’s case, even more so now that she knows he had been planning to feed on Jaime and Luna if he had been able to compel them out of the Grill,” Caroline admitted, “And now she wants to stage another intervention, and she doesn’t understand why none of us are as concerned as her.” 

“Why don’t you text Jaime? See if everything is alright,” Bonnie tried to put some confidence in her voice, but she knew it fell flat. They had all seen the look on Jaime’s face when everything had gone down; she hd not looked pleased. 

Bonnie was saddened by that; she would have loved to pick the brains of the two witches, and see what was so fundamentally different between their magic and her own.

Caroline chewed on her bottom lip, trying to summon the courage to text something to the British girls. 

But before she could even unlock her phone, she got a text message. 

She lunged for it, a bright smile breaking across her face when she saw who it was from. 

“Speak of the devil, Bonnie!” 

It was from Jaime. 

_**[Jaime:] Are you free today?** _

_[Caroline:] No plans, what’s up?_

_**[Jaime:] I am in desperate need of some retail therapy. Want to go shopping with Luna and I? Also, do you know any good shopping malls?** _

Caroline squealed with excitement to Bonnie’s amusement. 

_[Caroline:] Of course! When do you wanna go?_

_**[Jaime:] In about twenty minutes? We can pick you up, just send me your address. Feel free to invite Bonnie as well** _

“Sure, I’m down,” Bonnie said as she read the message over Caroline’s shoulder. 

Caroline quickly texted her address and Bonnie’s acceptance to Jaime before throwing herself off her bed to grab her wallet and purse off of the chair in the corner. Bonnie laughed at her friend’s enthusiasm. 

“Well, looks like your worries were unfounded,” Bonnie grabbed her own bag off of the floor and carefully stuffed the grimoire and notepad into it.

The blond beamed at her witch friend.

“I am so happy!” She squealed, bouncing from side to side. 

Bonnie was glad that Caroline was so happy; seeing her normally bubbly friend so down was always heartbreaking. Even after everything that had happened to her, even after her forced transformation into a vampire, the part of Caroline that was always warm and bright still endured. 

It was comforting to see. 

In a few minutes, Jaime and Luna were pulling up in their car, Caroline and Bonnie bounding out of the house to slide into the back seat. 

“Ready to shop?” Jaime asked, a wide grin on her face. 

“Always!” Caroline grinned back. 

Luna greeted the two girls in her normal, airy tone. 

The drive was full of light-hearted chatter, singing along to the radio, and describing what they they were looking for at the mall. 

“I was not expecting it to be so hot here,” Jaime admitted, “I need lighter clothes. Also, six years of wearing a uniform, a whole childhood of wearing my cousin’s giant hand-me-downs, and then everything else means that my wardrobe is sadly lacking in clothes I actually like.” 

“Don’t worry, we are definitely going to rectify that,” Bonnie grinned slyly. 

It took a bit of a drive - a little bit less than an hour - to get to the next town with a large shopping mall. Caroline lead the way through the mall, dashing into stores left and right, all but manic in her excitement. Jaime let herself be man-handled into trying on clothes with easy grab, Bonnie indulged her friend occasionally, and Luna was content in whichever store they went into. 

“Oh, Jaime, try this one!” Bonnie called. 

Jaime looked over at her and grimaced when she saw the deep emerald dress in Bonnie’s hands. 

“Um, I’m good, I - “

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s beautiful, but-“

Luna breezed into the conversation easily, her hair piled atop her head in a haphazard bun. 

“Jaime doesn’t really wear green if she can help it,” Luna explained, “Our school has certain houses, and each house had a color associated with it. Green was the color of her rival house.” 

“Oh,” Bonnie blinked, clearly not sure what to make of that explanation, but put the dress back onto the rack and instead pulled the same one out, this time in white, “But still, try this dress on, it’s super cute and the cut would look fantastic on you."

Jaime tried on the dress - actually ended up liking it - and the day continued as it had been. 

Of course, Caroline dragged them all into a lingerie store. 

“Come on, they are having a sale!” 

“Caroline,” Bonnie groused, “No one is going to see me in it, why buy it?” 

“Um, because you don’t need a man to dress up in nice things for? Because I know you feel just as badass as I do when you wear a matching set?” 

Bonnie visibly waffled, but the decision was made for the entire group as Luna was the one to take Caroline’s hand and pull the blond vampire in excitedly. 

Jaime laughed at the shocked expression on Caroline’s face as Luna immediately started to run her hands over the lace and velvet of a rather daring bodysuit, babbling on about how “lace is a fabric known to be well desired by the fey” and “velvet used to be seen a symbol of power, it is interesting that now it is used in lingerie for the bedroom-“

The girls spread out across the store, picking out bras and underwear and occasional bits of lingerie, teasing each other playfully when they saw each other looking at something particularly scandalous. 

“Honestly, I do not have a man right now, but if I did, what is the point of this?” Caroline held up a red bustier with an attached corset that laced up the back. “Isn’t the whole point to have sex? This will kill the mood if he has to stand there and literally untie me to get it off.” 

“I think it’s more the putting in the effort part of it,” Jaime mused, fiddling with a pair of black lace sleeping shorts that felt surprisingly comfortable. 

“It also depends on the man, or woman, or other individual that you are sleeping with,” Luna peered around Jaime’s shoulder to better see what Caroline was holding, “Sometimes the act of the removal is just as sensual as the act of intimacy.” 

Bonnie raised a eyebrow. 

“Who are you sleeping with? Definitely not a teenage boy.” 

Luna laughed. 

“Some teenage boys can be quite intuitive. But you are right, in that instance, it was with an older man I met when I was in Sweden on holiday. He had lovely hands, and quite a large-“

Jaime immediately clapped a hand over Luna’s mouth, merely going “We are in public, Luna,” in sing-song voice. 

“Well…I vote when we get home, we crack open several large bottles of wine and continue exchanging stories like this,” Caroline proposed, a wicked grin on her face.. 

“I am down,” Bonnie chimed in, an equally devilish look making her dark eyes glimmer, “Although ours might be a bit disappointing, as it has been just small-town teenage boys, nothing like you well-travelled lot,” she teased the two British girls. 

Caroline turned to Jaime, her curiosity about the black-haired beauty all but burning.

“Was there a guy before you left England?"

Jaime’s eyes got a little distant. Caroline immediately wanted to backtrack, but Jaime’s gaze focused on her again with a small, sad smile. 

“Yeah,” she admitted, “There was a guy for a while.” 

“I’m sorry,” Caroline apologized, embarrassment making her cheeks hot, “I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful.” 

Jaime laughed, only slightly bitterly, “Caroline, there isn’t much from my past that _isn’t_ painful. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Still, I am sorry, you don’t have to answer-“

“His name is Draco,” Jaime interrupted, “He…well, to put it mildly, he was a bully all throughout school.” 

Bonnie jumped into the conversation then, clearly trying to alleviate the tension that had risen. 

“Oh, so a bad boy?” She teased. 

It worked; Jaime laughed, a true laugh this time. 

“He was a right git for most of the time,” Jaime admitted, “But…during the war, his family was on the wrong side. And as much as he was an arsehole, he was not _evil._ He defected, was our spy for a long time. He fought with us at great risk to himself.” 

Luna chimed in, “He was kind to me when I was captured,” she hummed as she examined the pale pink nightgown in her hands, turning it this way and that as she continued, “He would sneak me food and try to find ways to break me out.” 

“You were captured?!” Bonnie and Caroline exclaimed in unison. 

“For a short period of time,” Luna put the pink nightgown down and pulled up another one in the same style, this one a pale yellow. She draped it over her arm to try on before she continued to the next display, calling over her shoulder, “But then I was freed by a house elf.” 

The two girls turned to look at Jaime with questions in their eyes, but Jaime simply continued without pause, “We…we were not in a relationship, not by a long shot. It was just a way to ease tension,” but the tightness to her face was contradictory to her words, “And when the war ended, we stopped seeing each other. We were too busy,” and here Jaime sighed and looked over to Luna, “And then…by the time that Luna and I left for America, Draco and I hadn’t spoken for months.” 

Caroline knew from the cadence of Jaime’s voice that there was a raw wound lurking underneath her words; she also knew that it would be cruel of her to try and push the girl for more information, no matter how curious she was. 

“Well, we’ll have to find you a nice American guy to hook up with. Someone not disappointing,” Bonnie distracted again. 

Jaime wrinkled her nose.

“Uh, I am quite content by myself for now,” she deflected. 

“Well then, you can be wing woman for me, because I want us to go clubbing in a few weekends to blow off steam, God knows that we all need it,” Caroline proclaimed dramatically, with just enough theatrics that Jaime laughed again, “But don’t think that you are getting out of our wine conversation tonight! We all still have to compare notes!"

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Jaime agreed, before she grabbed a deep, royal blue body-suit that was low cut in the front, decorated tastefully with beads. She passed it to the blond vampire, “Care, you need to try this on, it would look beautiful on you!”

.  
.  
.  
.

_**July 25th**_  
_**New York City**_  
_**3:30am**_

The door to the small apartment creaked open. 

Light footsteps, muffled by the stained carpet. Hesitant knocks against the wall leading into the kitchen.

Jon did not want to startle the owner of this apartment; not when he saw what the man could do. 

Cracks as a long bent spine straightened; the man hunched at the kitchen table half-turned to look at his informant. 

“What news do you have?” 

His voice was hoarse, rough from disuse. Still, his accent was prominent, and there was an air to his tone that said that at one point in his life, he had been the kind of man people listened to when he talked.

The British man had shown up in New York, half-mad and all but frothing at the mouth. For some reason, his friend Tiberius was determined to help him. Jon didn’t know why, but the tattoo on the inside of Tiberius’ forearm matched the one on this man. He had his money set on a weird cult, some kind of magic mafia family. 

Jon paused in the door, taking a moment to weigh the words he wished to say lightly. 

He did not know much about this man, but he knew enough from his centuries of life that this man was dangerous. If it weren’t for the fact that Jon owed Tiberius a ton of favors, he would never have let this man stay in his small apartment. He never would have agreed to be on the lookout for information for a lone girl. 

He didn’t know what a Miss Potter had done, but he would hate to be her once this man found her.

“A friend of mine down in New Orleans called me. He is a Nightwalker for the King down there. He heard about something from a witch.” 

“What did he say?”

“A human woman appeared with the Original Hybrid, his Original brother, and another vampire. The King wanted to smuggle a teenage girl out of the city, past the French Quarter witches. There was a battle that went down between them all late last night.” 

“And?” 

“This woman…she knocked out two witch Elders, and took the girl and disappeared into thin air. One of the witches that survived the attack said the girl was British, and was using a wand, casting spells she had never heard before.” 

The man stood abruptly, his voice tinged now with a more frantic edge as he took a few steps closer to Jon; the vampire rocked back on his heels, trying to keep a much space between this man and himself as he could.

“The girl, did your friend say what she looked like?”

“He didn’t see her. But the witch that did said she had black hair and green eyes." 

The man was trembling fiercely, his body jerking like a live wire. 

“Do you know where this girl might be?” 

“My friend doesn’t know about her. But he does know the Original Family is currently in Mystic Falls, Virginia.” 

The man’s face broke out into a wicked smile; Jon had to resist the urge to flinch back from the cold cruelty in the expression.

Once again, he was thankful he was not Miss Potter. He found himself pitying the poor woman, whoever she was, for somehow getting caught in the crosshairs of this man.

“Perfect. Thank you, my friend.” 

The man turned, and Jon wanted to breathe a sigh of relief; hopefully, this would be the information that would be enough for this man to leave the city. He started to inch his way back to the front door, resigning himself to hiding out at a bar until he knew his apartment was empty again. 

The man called one more time, and Jon paused in the doorway.

“Now, Jon, please hold still…I am not sure if this will even work on a vampire, but I am willing to try, what about you?” 

Before he could pour on the vampire speed and flee, the British man whirled around, something in his hand pointed at Jon - 

_“Avada Kedavra!"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...hi?
> 
> (sosorrypleasedon'tbemad)
> 
> listen...all i can say is that real life has kicked my ass in so many ways, there would not be enough characters in this little box to capture it all. all i can say is that it is so nice to be able to write again, and i hope that there are at least a few of you out there that are still interested in my little story here.
> 
> i cannot promise that the next chapter will be up on time in a week, but i am going to try my damn hardest. if you guys wanna talk to me on a more direct interface, feel free to pop over to my [tumblr](https://chase-the--wind.tumblr.com/)
> 
> please keep leaving comments, kudos, and continue to subscribe! i can promise that i will see this story through, come hell or high water. 
> 
> ALSO, i am so sorry that the relationship between Klaus and Jaime has been so slow to build, but trust me, i have ~plans~ for chapter nine, which will see some of that good ~romantic~ development. and if you see any errors in this chapter, please just excuse them, i was so excited to get this chapter out i did not proofread as hard as i should have, and once i get a few hours of sleep in my i will come back and fix the errors.
> 
> love you all, thank you for being patient with me *heart*


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